


Doing Business As

by Ramabear (RyMagnatar)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Permanent Human Transfiguration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-21 01:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15546822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/Ramabear
Summary: At the end of the war, one man lost his freedom and one child went missing. Regulus was unable to act at the time, out of touch with his brother and unaware of the Dark Lord's actions. Now, nearly a decade later, Regulus's world changes again when his brother is released back into his care- damaged but alive.Regulus can do nothing for Sirius's sanity now, but seeing his brother reminds him of who Sirius used to be. A fighter.  A Gryffindor. A proud man. A good friend. A strong ally.A godfather.





	1. His Brother's Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> this'll update sorta irregularly as i work on chapters for it and the mcu thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus makes a decision to change things.

The day that the Ministry unofficially releases Sirius Black back into Regulus’ care is the day that Regulus decides things have gone unchallenged for  _ long enough.  _

 

The morning starts typically enough. Regulus rises late in the morning and finds his way slowly to breakfast. It’s simple and savory, favoring bitter coffee rather than tea or juice and buttery scones. He skims through the newspapers delivered that morning for a headline that catches his eye. None of them do, which is not unusual.

The owl arrives as Regulus finishes eating and he allows Kreacher to let the bird in and examine the letter for any “nasty little trickses”. Regulus indulges Kreacher’s protective habits more often these days, especially when the scar tissue on his left hand is particularly bothersome. There’s nothing on the letter except for the heavy seal of the Ministry so Kreacher lets him open the letter himself.

The thick parchment paper and rich black ink are only masks for the information buried deep in the lines of the summons. And it is a summons, though one that drips with pity and an insincere regret. Regulus is to bring himself into the Ministry’s Department of Law at his earliest convenience with regards to his brother who, as the letter puts it, “has placed himself into an unfortunate situation.”

Considering the last thing Regulus heard of his brother was that he’d confessed to revealing the Potters to the Dark Lord and was in Azkaban for it, Regulus has to wonder what sort of  _ unfortunate situation  _ Sirius has  _ placed himself  _ in.

As he holds the parchment in his left hand, fingers too tight on the smooth parchment, his right hand drums an impatient staccato on the table. If Sirius had died from Dementor exposure, surely they would have just told him to come to collect the body. If Sirius had, somehow, escaped the place and got caught again, there would be no reason for Regulus to be informed. If Sirius had simply escaped, they’d…

Well, perhaps that’s what this is about, Regulus thinks. He lowers the message and lets it go. Sirius has escaped their punishment, somehow. Either he has physically left Azkaban or somehow otherwise thwarted recapture and they want Regulus to be Aware and also to let them know if he shows up to return him to their custody.

Regulus looks at the letter a few more times before he decides, why not go now? He had no other plans for the morning and, as Mother had always insisted, Family came First.

  
  


Regulus arrives in the Ministry’s atrium wearing dark blue robes worn loosely over black slacks and a white shirt. He wears the mostly to hide the wand sheath he has on his right arm, made in the style of an Auror so that it will open and drop his wand into his waiting hand with a flick of his arm and wrist. The long sleeves also keep his left hand from direct sight and though it no longer horrifies him as it once did, the sight of it is sure to cause questions and end conversations.

He sweeps past the grand statue in the center of the atrium without a blink and finds his way to the lifts as though he’s been there every day of his life. There are distant memories of this place, some from behind a mask where he infiltrated the Ministry with others who were Marked as he was, some faded memories of a time when he was too young for Hogwarts and thus followed his mother as she tended to her business, and some memories more recent as he attempts to reintegrate himself to society nearly a decade after his sudden disappearance.

Just as he easily finds the lifts, he finds the offices of Magical Law Enforcement. The red robes are a sure sign he’s in the right place, dark red Aurors and lighter red trainees with only a handful of the grey and red of archive workers walk up and down these halls and, so early in the morning, the place is bustling with activity. Regulus makes his way to the desk of one Auror that he does know, a woman with a narrow face but a broad sense of fairness. 

Nancy Heathergreen is neither pretty nor funny, but she is honest and more fair than Regulus thought a person could be. They met at a ministry function several months ago, an introduction by chance as he’d stepped off to the side to deal with wine that had been ‘accidentally’ spilled down his back. Nancy had helped him clean his robes, had introduced herself and had promptly told him that she hadn’t ever liked what she’d heard of him, but didn’t think that rumor justified dislike. 

They weren’t friends, of course, Regulus knew better than to make friends with someone who was likely to turn him over if he even smelled faintly of Dark magic, but she was a face and a name that he knew and that was enough. 

Nancy looked up from her desk as he approached. One eyebrow rose and then the other joined it as she glanced to either side of him and saw him alone and apparently there of his own free will. She gave a short nod to him in greeting, “Mr. Black?”

“Auror Heathergreen,” Regulus said, nodding back. He produced the folded parchment letter from his pocket and held it out to her. “I’ve come looking for Auror Shacklebolt. If you could be so kind as to direct me to his office? As you can see, he should be expecting me.”

Her pale eyes skimmed the words of the letter, a frown line finding its place between her brow. “I can take you to his office if you can wait a moment.” She handed back the letter. 

Regulus took it and nodded. He folded the letter back up with his right hand and tucked it away again. Nancy scratched something on a paper with her quill and then cast a quick drying charm on it. With a flick of her wrist, the paper folded itself into a small bird and went fluttering away from her desk. Regulus watched its flight until it ducked around a corner and out of view. 

Nancy stood and pushed her chair in, “This way, Mr. Black.” 

She led him through the weaving corridors of the Aurors offices. He overheard voices talking about cases and files, some muttered greetings and snatches of conversations between friends and coworkers as they caught up with each other’s lives. Regulus kept pace with Nancy and was glad she didn’t make any chatter. His nervousness had grown higher as he noticed the little looks and stares he got, even from those ostensibly engaged deep in their own conversations.

Regulus Black did not walk among the Aurors unnoticed.

 

 

At last, Nancy brought him to an office. She knocked sharply on it with the back of her hand. At the beckoning voice inside, Nancy said clearly, “It’s Auror Heathergreen accompanying Mr. Black. You were expecting him, sir?”

The door opened and Regulus tensed at the sight of the woman who stood in the doorway. He knew her. Amelia Bones did not like him. The feeling was rather mutual. Bones regarded Nancy with a cool gaze. Nancy, to her credit, stood and suffered through it, hands down at her sides. 

“I was unaware you knew Mr. Black,” Bones said.

“I’ve had the opportunity to make his acquaintance at the occasional Ministry function. Mr. Black asked me to direct him to Auror Shacklebolt. He  _ is  _ in his office, is he not?” Nancy’s gaze flicked past Bones. Bones nodded to her and shifted to the side slightly so that Nancy could see past her and into the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in his office, crouched down beside his desk with such a strange expression on his face that Regulus’s nervousness twisted hard into anxiety. 

He stepped forward, “I appreciate the guidance, Auror Heathergreen. Thank you for taking the time from your busy morning to assist me.” He nodded to her. Nancy nodded back. She murmured a goodbye and headed back down the hallway.

Bones looked Regulus over once, then twice, then stepped backward and motioned for him to enter. Regulus did, tense and ready to drop his wand into his waiting hand again. Bones shut the door behind him and though he felt the shiver of charms run up along it, he could tell from a glance they were anti-eavesdropping ones, not locking charms. 

Shacklebolt looked up at him and his expression shifted into one of regret. Regulus took in a deep breath, already preparing himself to hear of his brother’s death, when his gaze followed the man’s arm to the floor.

And down to the black dog that lay there with its head between its paws, dark eyes looking up at them with the liquid innocence that came so naturally to dogs. Regulus took a step forward and then stopped. Though he had not seen that black shaggy body, those long legs and large feet, the sighthound's long snout and narrow skull and expressive eyes, in over five years, Regulus  _ knew  _ it. Regulus knew  _ him.  _

“Sirius,” he said. He didn’t mean to say it but he did. His left hand clenched tightly. The muscle of his arm spasmed and Regulus winced. The dog didn't react to his name or Regulus's voice.

“The guards found him like this in his cell,” Bones said from behind him. She sounded resigned. Regulus shivered at having her close to his back but he couldn’t bring himself to move. “He was forcibly returned to his human form but even after several hours there was no change to his behavior, except for the added confusion that comes with being a creature in a man’s body, unsure of how to move or act.”

“What did the healer’s say?” Regulus asked, unable to take his eyes off the dog, off of Sirius. He disliked the way that Shacklebolt’s hand rested on Sirius’s shoulder, near the neck, as though he’d been petting him to soothe him. “Did they search his mind?”

“They did,” Bones said, “They say there’s no recovering his lost memories, most likely consumed by the dementors. They said whatever is left has so little form that it’s barely understandable to humans. He has a dog’s thoughts and a dog’s memories.”

“How long have you had him here, like this?” Regulus asked.

“The healers released him this morning,” Shacklebolt said, finally speaking. He looked mournfully at Regulus as if his regret could actually change anything. Regulus stared back at him and felt nothing but cold. “They had him for a week, but they’ve seen this before and it’s progressed too far to be undone. Even if you were to force him into his human form again, he would not become himself, nor would he stay that way. His magic is what turned him into this and it has held this form for too long to change back.”

“Did you know he was an animagus?” Bones asked. 

Regulus shot her a cold look, “I wasn’t particularly close to my brother, but he did show me, once or twice. And no, I never reported it because, at the time, I knew he had Dumbledore’s blessing to act however he wished, so long as it was in the benefit of his Gryffindor friends and against the wishes of his family. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out the whole lot of them were animagi.”

To cut off that part of the discussion, Regulus stepped forward. The first step was the hardest, but Sirius responded when he moved forward, lifting his head slightly, watching him. Regulus wanted to think that Sirius remembered him, that Sirius knew who he was and was just playing a prank but he could see those eyes clear enough. He remembered how they should look, with Sirius’s brilliance as a spark in the depths of them. There should be a humanity there that even eyes so liquid and soft could not hide. 

These eyes held none of that. They were flat. They had no depth. They had no human soul trapped behind them. Regulus stopped and crouched. He held out his right hand, palm up, for Sirius, for the dog, to sniff. A black nose brushed his fingers, wet and cold, and then the dog lowered his head again, settling back on his forelegs.

“Animals do not belong in Azkaban,” Shacklebolt said, looking at Regulus. In his face, in his voice, Regulus heard the man’s regret bleeding like an open wound. Regulus wondered, had Shacklebolt considered him a friend of Sirius’s? Did it really pain him to see Sirius this way? Did he regret Sirius’s capture, his imprisonment? 

“You’re releasing him,” a flat statement. Regulus cannot  _ believe- _

“We have to,” Bones, behind him. He glances at her. She stands with her arms folded across her chest. “We can’t keep him in Azkaban. We can’t formally release him, either, so as far as the Ministry is concerned, that dog just washed up on the island’s shore somehow and Sirius Black died in Azkaban.”

Regulus turns back to the dog. And it is just a dog now. Not Sirius. 

His heart does something painful in his chest, aching so strong that he has to rock back on his heels, pressing his fist against his sternum. He could try to bring Sirius back. He could look up rituals and artifacts that could undo the damage done. He could read books and study and devote years to returning Sirius to his human form but just as Regulus knows that he  _ could  _ do that, he knows that he will not. 

Regulus draws his wand and hesitates. He looks down at the dog. The dog looks at him. Regulus reaches up with his left hand and grips his top button with finger and thumb. He pulls sharply, snapping the thread of it so the button is free. With a murmur of latin and the sharp focus that his grief demands of him, Regulus transfigures a leather band out of the button. The leather is dark red and the buckle is golden, the colors of Sirius’s chosen house. 

Shacklebolt eases away and stands up as Regulus goes down on his knees in front of the dog. It eyes the collar but Regulus works quickly to slide it around the dog’s neck and tighten it into place. There’s a loop for a leash and Regulus conjures a long black lead that he ties firmly into place. He then gets to his feet.

Regulus looks first to Shacklebolt, who shakes his head and looks away. Then he looks to Bones, who looks back, lips pressed in a thin line. 

“Send me the death certificate when you have the paperwork finalized,” Regulus murmurs. He absently winds the black cord around his left wrist and through his fingers, holding tightly to it and ignoring the way it feels against his scarred skin. To the dog, he clicks his tongue against his teeth, “Come on, Padfoot, get up. We’re going home.”

The dog’s ears perk up and the head comes up again. Regulus clucks his tongue again and the dog rises and cautiously comes towards him. He sniffs Regulus. Regulus reaches out his right hand to him again. The dog presses up against his palm, his dark fur far softer than Sirius’s hair ever was. His tail begins to swing, long arcs that show his happiness as clearly as Sirius’s grin ever did. 

Regulus nods and then goes to the door. Bones drops the spells and he leaves.

 

Regulus keeps the leash short so that the dog doesn’t have far that it can wander but, despite how boisterous that Sirius was, the dog that he has become presses close to Regulus as they move through the noisy and busy section of the Ministry. He trembles against Regulus’s leg by the time they make it to the lifts, where Regulus waits with one hand on the top of the dog’s head. 

His mind is a storm of thoughts and emotions that wage war against each other behind his flat, expressionless face. Regulus knows that none of it shows because no one asks him if he’s all right and no one looks afraid when he glances in their direction. They’re more curious of the dog at his side, placid and timid and scared, but clearly a beautiful creature with large eyes, dark fur, and long legs. Regulus had never spent much time thinking about his brother’s animal form, had known it was a large black dog and that was enough, but now things are different. Sirius will never be Sirius again and Regulus will have to learn how to take care of the dog his brother had become.

Sirius presses against his side, whining softly until Regulus presses his hand against the top of the dog’s head, fingers threading through dark fur between soft ears. This calms the dog, who goes quiet and simply sits there.

Regulus absentmindedly pets him between the ears, fingers trailing along the side of his head and down his slender neck, while he lets his mind roil and churn.

He knows that once his mind calms he will have his purpose once more.

  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  


Harry is the one who opens the front door. 

Petunia tells him to do it from the kitchen, where she’s busy with the cake for Dudley’s birthday. Well.  _ Cakes,  _ really. Dudley gets his own cake for his birthday and then there is one for the party that evening. Dudley’s friends will have cake while Harry is put outside. He’d be upset about being treated like a bad dog but he’d rather be outside than in the cupboard. At least outside he can lie flat on his back and look at the sky, or go to the park and play without worrying Dudley’s coming after him for once. 

They’re expecting friends of Dudley to come over, but not until later so Harry doesn’t know who it could be there now. Maybe it’s one of their neighbors coming over to complain about something. Yesterday a man came by to complain about the sprinklers that they were using and got into an argument with Petunia that left Harry having to water everything in the garden by hand  _ this  _ morning. 

No matter who it is, though, Harry is the one who opens the front door when there comes a knock. 

A stranger stands on the front step and standing beside him is a big black dog with a red collar on a gold leash. Harry doesn’t think it’s real gold, but maybe it is because it looks like its made out of a chain and chains are usually metal. The stranger is tall and has dark hair. He looks at Harry with dark eyes and a slight frown. 

Harry looks back at him, trying to figure out  _ why  _ he looks odd. There’s something about him that’s weird. Maybe it’s his clothing, which looks too nice to wander around in on the street, or his shoes which look like they might be boots with scales like cowboy boots he’s seen on the telly, or maybe it’s because his hair is long around his shoulders and men don’t usually have long hair. 

“Who is it at the door?” Petunia calls from the kitchen. “Let them in!”

Harry knows better than to disobey when Petunia sounds like that so he ducks back and motions for the man to come in. He doesn’t know how Petunia knows him, but maybe Vernon does. Maybe he works with Vernon and is there to give Dudley a present?

Harry looks sidelong at the dog as the man walks into the entrance hall. He half hopes the gift is the dog, half hopes it isn’t. He’d like a dog for himself, someone to run with and play with, but a gift of a dog to Dudley would only spell trouble for Harry. He glances up at the man, who looks around the entryway and the stairs with a growing frown. He’s wrinkling his nose the way Petunia does when she opens the garbage to throw something away and it’s gotten ripe. 

Harry goes to the kitchen doorway to tell his aunt, “I don’t know who it is, Aunt Petunia. He didn’t introduce himself.”

“He didn’t?” Petunia turns to scowl at him. Harry tries not to look at the cake she’s icing because knowing what it looks like only makes not having it hurt more. “It isn’t one of Dudder’s friends?”

Harry shook his head, “No. Dudley is still at the park, Aunt Petunia.”

“Well then who-” and she stops talking, looking suddenly very pale and staring past Harry.

Harry goes still as well. The man is just behind his shoulder, not touching him, but close enough to. Harry glances out of the corner of his eye and sees the dog sitting by the front door, watching his master with attentive, dark eyes, but not moving. 

“ _ Aunt  _ Petunia,” the man says and the way the word  _ aunt  _ crawls out of his lips makes Harry’s skin break out in goosebumps. He swears he feels the man’s fingers brush his shoulder as he strides into the kitchen. Harry swallows hard as he sees the man’s left hand, half curled at his side, out of view mostly but from the backside where Harry is now. The man’s ring finger and pinky are missing and the skin where they should be attached is twisted and scarred. His skin is discolored too, a greenish-black that goes from the scars where fingers should be and up the side of his arm, past his wrist and up under his sleeve. Harry grips the front hem of his shirt with two tight hands and makes himself look up from the man’s twisted hand. 

Aunt Petunia isn’t looking at that, though, she’s looking at the man’s other hand. He holds a long black stick delicately in his fingers. This hand, too, is down at his side, but that doesn’t stop Petunia from staring at it, looking so white she almost matches the eggshell shade of the curtains. “What do you want?” her voice is high and wavering, “I took the boy in- I took care of him- I did everything you people asked!”

“I’ve met a lot of relatives in my time,” the man said, completely ignoring all of Petunia’s question. It just makes her face look more pinched up when he does that. “Plenty of aunts and uncles and cousins of all kinds. Believe me when I say of all kinds, too. Fussy ones and anxious ones and mad ones and simple ones. More mad ones than not mad, unfortunately.” He glanced over his shoulder and his dark eyes settled on Harry. He was smiling, just a little bit, “It kind of runs in the blood, the madness does. But some people just let it run wild and others learn to tame it properly.”

Harry gapes at him. The man turns back to Petunia. 

She holds the icing spatula in two hands like it might actually protect her from the man. It’s shaking so much that the icing that’s stuck it starts to slide off. “What are you talking about? What do you want? Who are you?”

“There was my aunt Druella, a bit of a bitch like you, I think, though she would cut out my tongue if she heard me compare someone like  _ her  _ to someone like  _ you.”  _

Petunia flinches when the man swears, but she doesn’t say anything. She just shrinks back against the cupboard even more. 

Harry has to wonder why she’s so scared. The man is across the room from her and isn’t even yelling. He’s not walking towards her anymore, just standing a few steps ahead of Harry and holding his black stick and talking to her. True, he’s talking like they’re having a conversation about crazy relatives, but Petunia’s the one who looks crazy being so afraid of nothing.

Unless she knew him from somewhere else and Harry just doesn’t realize how dangerous the man is. But he doesn’t seem dangerous. At least not in the same way that Vernon or Petunia can be dangerous. 

“She wasn’t very mad, though she had a daughter who turned out to be  _ quite  _ the wild one. Then again, she married  _ into  _ the family, not out of it. The madness most likely came from her husband.” He looked over his shoulder at Harry again, “It’s important to remember things like that, Harry. Madness is in the blood and the blood is carried on both sides, by mothers, and by fathers.”

_ “You’re the mad one here!”  _ Petunia shrieked, pointing her icing spatula at him, “I want you out of my house! Get out! You have no right to be here!”

“Actually,” the man shifts so his right foot slides forward and his right hand lifts. He gives a slow swirl with his stick -it looks like a wand, in all honesty- and murmurs something under his breath that Harry doesn’t catch. A soft blue light gathers in the air between the man and Petunia, growing stronger and stronger until all at once it shoots over and lands on Petunia. She lets out a howl and drops the spatula, scratching at her skin as the blue light sinks into her body, “I have more of a right than you might think and I certainly am willing to exercise that right now that I see what kind of madness has taken root here.” 

Harry stared at Petunia who had stopped screaming, at least, and was still scratching at her arms. She was fully preoccupied with the scratching, moaning softly about  _ the blood, the blood, oh it’s in the blood!  _

The man broke Harry’s line of sight by stepping into it. He turned towards Harry and, after a moment, bent down to be more of an equal height, “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you here, Harry. Part of it was my fault, I was in the middle of something dangerous for several years and couldn’t be parted from it for longer than I would have liked. Then my apathy grew great once it set in how alone I was without my brother or my family. Part of it was because you were very well hidden and those who knew where you were would never be willing to tell me. Searching for any scrap of family you had took longer than it should have, I admit, but Muggle records can be...suspect at best.”

“You were looking for me?” Harry asks quietly. He twists his shirt tighter in his hands. He forces himself to look only at the man in front of him and not beyond him, beyond the kitchen table to where Petunia is sitting on the floor moaning. 

“I was,” the man said, “You see, my brother was your godfather but after a… series of unfortunate choices, he ended up in a position where he could not be the one to raise you after your parents were killed.”

“I have a godfather?” Harry whispered, “My parents were  _ killed?”  _

He doesn’t realize he’s swaying on his feet until the man’s hand is on his shoulder, steadying him. It’s his right hand, the one with all five fingers and no scarred skin. The black stick- the wand?- is gone again. “Breathe, Harry, it will be all right.” 

Harry breathes. 

“If you haven’t figured it out already,” the man says with a smile, “I’m here to take you with me. If you can forgive me being late in coming for you-”

“You’ll take me away from here? You really will?” Harry interrupts him, hope rising through him like a tidal wave. It’s been years since he really thought anyone ever would come for him, those are baby thoughts and baby dreams and he’s not a baby anymore. Still, when it’s hard to sleep in the cupboard and he’s curled up tight against cold, he dreams about parents he doesn’t remember coming to find him, or fairy godmothers rescuing him from the Dursley’s insults and anger.

Maybe he hasn’t got a fairy god _ mother  _ but apparently, he has a god _ father  _ who can take him in!

“At once,” the man says, “And you’ll never have to come back here ever again.”

“And I can live with my godfather?” Harry asks.

Something sad flickers across the man’s face but he nods, “He’ll be there too, but so will I. You can live with us and we will make sure you get the things you need.” His hand slips to Harry’s arm and he lifts it up, his thumb and forefinger circling easily around Harry’s skinny wrist, “Because you’re not getting what you need here, are you?”

Harry bites his lip, hard, but he nods. 

“Then it’s settled,” the man stands back up. “You’ll come home with us.”

Harry nods again. He’s almost afraid to speak as if the words that want to come tumbling out of his lips will break the spell. The man holds out his hand and he takes it in both of his.

“Is there anything of yours that we need to take from here?” The man asks. He doesn’t look around as if to search, though, just looks steadily at Harry.

Harry thinks of the few clothes he has tucked under his cot. He thinks of the cupboard, bare of all toys or possessions. He’s collected small things, rocks that shine in the sun and a few other scraps of things but Harry doesn’t want those things anymore. They will only remind him of the Dursleys and he never wants to be reminded of them again. 

He shakes his head hard. “No. Nothing.”

The man nods. Then he lifts his voice, calling out to his dog, “Padfoot.”

Harry hears the click of claws on wood and the dog is suddenly there, almost as tall as he is and all long legs and shaggy black coat. Padfoot looks at him with liquid dark eyes and Harry tentatively holds out his hand to him. Padfoot sniffs and then begins to wag his tail hard. The man smiles, “It looks like he likes you, though I never had any doubt.”

“I’ve never seen a dog like him before,” Harry whispered. He ran a hand over Padfoot’s head and neck. He  _ is  _ soft, just as Harry imagined he would be. 

“He’s a deerhound,” the man said with a glimmer of humor in his voice. “A sight-hunting dog. Pure-blooded, too, though you’d never know it from the way he chews up the furniture.” His tone dips into a scold but even that has warmth in it. He shakes his head, “I think he just doesn’t like Mother’s favorite chair very much, drives Kreacher up the wall when he chews on it, though.”

“Kreacher?” Harry asked.

“Oh, Harry,” the man grins, “I have quite a lot to show you, don’t I? Here, take my arm. I’ll Apparate us all out of here and to your new home.” He holds out his arm and he’s holding that black stick again. Up close, Harry can see it’s shiny like it’s been polished smooth. He wonders if maybe it is a wand. After all, the man had cast a spell with it, hadn’t he? He put a spell on Petunia that made her glow blue like that and then cry out. 

Harry takes his arm and looks up at him, “What do I call you? Are you my uncle or something?”

The man blinks and then touches his forehead with his left hand, two fingers rubbing against the skin briefly before he mutters, “I didn’t introduce myself at all, did I?”

Harry shakes his head. 

“I  _ was  _ a bit … overwhelmed by the place, I suppose I can excuse it that way,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then he shakes his head and refocuses on Harry. “My name is Regulus Black. For now, just call me Regulus, hm? You must have had enough of uncles for a lifetime.”

Harry grimaced but nodded. He tightened his grip on Regulus’s arm and tries not to stare when Regulus puts his wounded hand on Padfoot’s head. He does stare when Regulus swishes his wand, wondering what  _ apparate  _ means. He supposes he’s about to find out the answer to his question. 

Then it happens and Harry, after his stomach settles itself, only has  _ more  _ questions, not less.


	2. Cornerstones for the Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus tells the truth that Harry needs to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for the comments so far

Regulus expects Harry to babble over with questions. He has a sense that children don’t really know when to stop talking, though that’s probably residue of his mother’s beliefs in him. Beliefs that a perfect child would listen but not speak, that they would obey without question. He remembers classmates who were chatterers, squirming to speak with their friends when under the glare of professors. He remembers notes passed and conversations in hallways and how the older he got, the more quiet people became around him. 

But Harry is a different sort of child than the noisome thing Regulus is conditioned to expect in a non-pureblood child. He recovers quickly from their apparition and stands silently at the end of the long, winding path of smooth white stones that lead from the apparition point near the gates to the front door of the Black Manor that Regulus has chosen to inhabit. He  _ had  _ been living in 12 Grimmauld Place up until the whole affair with Sirius and he’d not been bothered by the place as much as Sirius ever was. 

As much as Sirius still was, in fact. He didn’t seem to have his human memories as a dog, but he retained strong feelings and connections to things that Sirius had felt strongly about. They only managed to stay in Grimmauld place for a week before Regulus gave in to the howling and moping and miserable countenance of his brother in dog form and they moved out.

Kreacher came with them, of course, and so did some furniture, as the manor that Regulus chose had been laid bare some generations back.

Sirius adapted better to this place, though Regulus thought that was partially because he’d never been there before as a human. The enormous grounds and nearby forest probably didn’t hurt much either, as he roamed the outdoor territory frequently, even without Regulus as a companion. There was a wall that bordered the Manor’s grounds, but it was low, only two and a half feet tall, and made of flat grey stones stacked on top of each other. In many places the plant growth went through and around the wall, making it look as deserted as it had been, but one only had to relax their eye enough to see the strong wards that wove their way out of the ground and high into the air.

From where they stand, one can see the front of the manor. The walls are built of the same white stone as the path and the same grey stone as the walls make up the accents and visible parts of the foundation. There are plenty of tall, wide windows, though they are blocked off with curtains from the inside. Regulus knows that the manor isn’t as large or as grand as other purebloods boast of with its modest two stories and wine cellar. There aren’t an endless number of wings and rooms and stairways. This is a summer home, a retreat made to bring a large family into closer quarters or to provide a place for a few individuals to escape the throng of London and recover themselves in a place close to nature. Regulus has one memory of this place from before he moved in and it was a visit to his grandfather, who had lived there for a time, brewing potions and brooding. Regulus doesn’t remember the circumstances well, but he remembered the manor and that was enough.

“Come, Harry,” Regulus murmurs to him, reaching out towards him but not touching. Harry spooks easily, like the white deer that populate the forest nearby, and Regulus can’t forget that when he looks at him. It’s written in the boy’s thin limbs and large eyes and the way he hunches his shoulders instinctively, attempting to look smaller than he is. 

Sirius trembles at Regulus’s other side, though for a different reason than Harry. Before Regulus begins the walk up to the house, he bends and touches a finger to the back of the collar. He murmurs  _ “Solvo”  _ to release the gold chain from the collar and gives the chain a flick of his wrist to disband its long form and return it to the gold band on his wrist that it forms when not in use. 

Sirius shakes himself once he’s free of the leash and takes off across the property, his long legs eating up the distance as he stretches out and runs freely. Regulus watches him with a feeling of bittersweet contentment in his chest. Sirius is happy, happier than Regulus ever saw him in a Black residence before, but of course, he’s not properly himself. Still, the happiness is nice to see.

Harry gapes at his casual use of magic the way any child would if they had never seen it before. Regulus gives him a patient smile. “I assume, from the place that you were raised, that you’ve never encountered magic before today?”

Harry shakes his head, “Is that what that is?” he asks, “You can do magic?”

“I can,” Regulus says, “And so can you. After all, you  _ are  _ a wizard too, Harry.”

“I am?” he says with the same breathlessness that he’d asked about having a godfather in. 

Regulus nods, “Surely, there must have been instances where something happened to you or around you that neither you nor the people around you could explain. Things flying through the air, perhaps, or changing their shape or color?”

“One time I disappeared and reappeared on the roof of my school,” Harry says, “But I didn’t know how I got there.”

Regulus blinks but nods again. Accidental apparition? Interesting. He makes a little gesture with his hand, subtle and low but Harry responds to it and begins to walk at his side up the long path to the front door. Regulus carries on the conversation as they walk, “That would be a result of accidental magic. Sometimes a child will react with accidental magic when they are emotional or in danger. Infants can summon their favorite toy or change themselves into something dry if they can will it hard enough. Some children bounce when they fall from a tree and others apparate to rooftops in order to escape.”

He knows he’s hit the mark on the head for  _ why  _ Harry’s magic reacted the way it did when Harry nods to him, lips pressed into a thin line and looking grim but not afraid. Regulus is glad for that- the lack of fear. He’s all but tossed Harry into a whole new and strange world where things are no longer as they were when he woke up, a child could so easily be overwhelmed and made afraid by it. 

He’ll still move carefully with Harry, but not as carefully as he would with someone going through shock.

“You may not know how to use any magic now, of course, but that’s not unusual. Children don’t usually get a wand until they’re at least eleven and sometimes it takes longer if a new wand can’t be afforded,” Regulus said. He turned his wrist so that his ebony wand slid from its sheath and into his waiting fingers. He showed it to Harry, smiling a little when Harry looked but didn’t touch. “This is mine. It’s made of ebony wood and has a dragon heartstring core. We’ll get you a practice wand soon and then a real one when you turn eleven.”

Harry’s eyes are hungry as they look at Regulus’s wand, but something Regulus has said makes him blink and look up in surprise, “When I turn eleven? What, like a birthday present?”

Regulus nods.

“I’ve never…” he doesn’t complete the sentence, biting his bottom lip hard, but he doesn’t need to. Regulus can hear the words as clearly as if he had spoken them;  _ I’ve never gotten a birthday present before.  _

Regulus presses his hand to Harry’s shoulder silently, acknowledging the unspoken words and giving unspoken comfort. Then he nods again and says, “Let’s go inside. I’m sure you want to know about your godfather and it’s… a long story. We’ll need to sit down and have something to eat, first.”

Harry nods and follows as Regulus leads him through the front door of the manor and into the entrance hall. Kreacher appears without a sound, bowing low at Regulus’s appearance and Harry gasps beside him. 

“Master Regulus Black is being welcomed home,” he says when he straightens back up. Regulus went out without a cloak so there’s nothing to take so he just wrings his hands together, looking expectant.

“Kreacher,” Regulus says, gesturing towards Harry, “This is Harry Potter. He is my chosen heir and you will treat him as such. Harry, this is my house-elf, Kreacher. He will come when you summon him by name and he will provide you with whatever it is in his power to give to you.” 

Harry stepped forward, curiosity overriding his caution, “Hello, Kreacher.”

Kreacher straightened up to his tallest height, ears trembling as he accepted Regulus’s words and Harry’s greeting. Then he gave Harry a bow that was deep, befitting Harry’s status as heir, and said solemnly, “Kreacher is being welcoming to Young Master Harry Potter. Kreacher is serving Young Master Harry Potter as Master Regulus Black is saying so.”

Harry gave a briefly distressed expression, “Serving me? As in you’re a servant here?” He turned his gaze to Regulus, “You have a servant?”

“That is what house-elves are,” Regulus said, “That is what they do. They live to serve and are pleased to do so.”

“But being a servant-” Harry started. He bit his lip to cut himself off, shaking his head though Regulus wasn’t sure who he shook it at. He seemed to chew through his own reluctance, however, and started again, “But being a servant is what  _ they  _ did to me. I had to do all the chores around the house, the cleaning and cooking and putting things away-  _ I  _ didn’t like it.”

“You’re not a house-elf,” Regulus said mildly, “A house-elf has magic that helps them do chores. You don’t think that I have Kreacher run around from room to room on foot, do you?”

“..no?” Harry asked, but it was clear he didn’t quite believe that.

“Exactly. Nothing would ever get done if Kreacher didn’t have magic. Frankly, I wouldn’t keep an elf if it  _ couldn’t  _ use magic.” Regulus said with a sniff, “Kreacher does, however, have magic and has been with the Black family for generations. To dismiss him now would only be cruel.”

Harry still looks troubled, brow furrowed and bottom lip sticking out, but he nods. 

“Kreacher, we’ll have a light meal in the Hunting Room,” Regulus orders, “Something easy to eat and with dessert to follow. We’ll need something sweet after we’re done.”

“Yes Master Regulus, Kreacher be serving so,” Kreacher bowed and vanished with a soft pop. Harry gasped at the noise and the sudden disappearance. 

“I told you he could do magic,” Regulus murmurs with a little smile. Harry nods his head and stares after the spot where Kreacher stood until they walk past it and he finds something else to distract himself with.

Regulus doesn’t loiter in any of the rooms or hallways. He guides Harry with a hand just barely touching his back, steering him along until they reach the room Regulus mentioned before. Harry’s curiosity is momentarily soothed by the promise that Regulus will let him wander he house on his own soon enough. Still, he gapes at the house as they walk through it, at the long runner rug in the hallway and the portrait paintings that line the walls (which watch him in return, murmuring to each other) and more. Everything about the manor seems to amaze Harry, which Regulus reminds himself not to be surprised about, considering the place that he has taken Harry from.

They reach the Hunting Room shortly. It’s a western facing sitting room with dark hardwood floors, furniture of lighter wood and deep forest green and with walls painted to mimic the forest outside. Currently, the trees upon the walls are thick with green and the trunks are nearly indistinguishable beneath all the green. Regulus taps the mantle with one hand, activating the spell to light the fireplace and giving the room both warmth and light.

Harry enters the room slowly, eyes flitting around and settling on the decorations that are carefully placed around. There is the ivory statue of a white deer, a doe with three eyes and unnaturally long legs. There is the stuffed eagle hawk in the corner, wings spread wide in a swoop and claws stretched out, showing the unnatural jewel-colored gleam of red feet and gold talons. There is the absurdly large, russet and grey deerskin, though Regulus doubts the boy knows what type of skin it is, draped over one of the smaller couches. There is the thick fur rug on the hearth before the fire, looking like any bearskin if not for the faint ghost of leopard printing and the hint of scales at the edges where fur gives away to the skin beneath. 

Regulus goes to his preferred chair, a tall-backed one that shows teeth marks at one foot and is draped in a thin grey blanket. He gestures to the other chair, not the small couch with the deerskin -that’s Sirius’s chair- but the one that matches his own on the other side of a circular table that holds an empty, green glass vase. “Have a seat, Harry.”

Harry does, sitting on the edge of the seat as if he’s scared to leave a mark behind. He clasps his hands between his knees and looks at Regulus with wide eyes. Regulus does his best to look calm, even though a current of anxiety runs through him like quicksilver. He never knew the boy’s parents very well, can’t remember meeting them outside of a skirmish on a battlefield though he knows that hardly counts. 

He’s saved from finding the right words to begin by the appearance of Kreacher and a platter of food. The elf arranges it onto the small table between them, transporting the vase to another table in the room so it’s out of the way. Regulus sets an example of how to go about eating the food by serving a few onto a separate, smaller plate for himself and picking up his glass to sip from. Harry still hesitates but Regulus asks a pointed question that if Harry doesn’t like anything he sees he can ask for something else and that spurs the boy into action. Harry mutters about not wanting to waste Regulus’s food but he takes a few of the small sandwiches and a cluster of grapes and some of the slices of cheese for himself.

Regulus eats lightly. He’s too tense to really enjoy the food, but he does have one or two of the sandwiches. He picks at the grapes and ends up eating half a bowl of peeled orange slices while Harry relaxes enough to allow the chair to hold him and nibbles at his own food. When Harry sits back, picking the crumbs from his shirt with an embarrassed flush, Kreacher appears, sensing that the meal is finished. 

“Wait with the dessert, Kreacher,” Regulus orders as he sits back in his chair.

“Yes, Master,” Kreacher humbly bows and vanishes away with the trays. The green vase returns to its original spot except now with a cluster of white and yellow flowers, the small ones that grow in bunches near the south end of the property. Harry admires them openly, reaching out hesitantly and then more confidently when Regulus smiles at him. 

“Regulus?” Harry asks, peering at him now with his head tilted down and his fringe in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Am I really going to stay here forever?” Harry asks, “I’m not going back to the Dursleys again?”

“Well, forever is a rather long time,” Regulus says, “You might want to go other places after a while. Like to school or to the shops or to the city,” Harry flushes a little bit at the teasing in his tone, but Regulus  _ does  _ try to keep it light, “If you’re asking if you’re allowed to consider this place your new home, then yes. I do hope you can feel at home here. I’d hate for you to feel like a visitor in a place where you should feel like you belong.”

Harry nods. He chews his bottom lip a little in thought. Regulus waits. 

“When am I going to meet my godfather?” Harry eventually says, softer still. 

Regulus closes his eyes when he hears that fragile hope. He holds himself still for a long minute, finding the words, finding the calmness that he needs to explain things to Harry. It won’t do to give into the black urge to rant and rave about the injustice done to his brother, no matter how Black the urge is. Letting out a deep breath through his nose, Regulus opens his eyes and looks at Harry.

Harry stares at him with solemn green eyes, as if he can sense the bad news already. 

“Where your godfather is and why he is there is a part of a much longer story. It doesn’t begin with him at all, in fact, it begins with your parents.”

Harry’s back straightens up, “My parents?” His shoulders pull up sharply, “You said they were killed.”

Regulus nods, “They were. There was a war in the wizarding world- the world I live in now and the same one you should have been raised in- this war was about prejudice and about the status of one’s blood. There are people who have been part of magical families for so long that they can trace their generations back before Merlin. There are others who break from these pure bloodlines and leave the wizarding world or live with one foot outside of it, marrying those without magic and having children with one magical parent and one without. And there are those with two non-magical parents, in whom the magic has found a home and they are brought into the wizarding world later because of it.”

“Were my parents like that?” Harry asks, “Were they born without magical parents?”

“Your mother was, if I recall correctly,” Regulus says, “Your father was from a pureblood family line known as the Potters. My family line, the Blacks, are related to your father’s family line through marriage. Your father and my brother became friends in school.” 

Harry nods, absorbing this information with wide eyes that shine eagerly. Regulus doubts the muggles ever told him anything about his family, doubts even harder they knew much about the wizarding world. The woman, perhaps, since she was the relative of a witch, but any others? Unlikely.

“The war was an ugly thing,” Regulus said, “There was a Dark Lord on one side, attempting to purge the wizarding world of every muggleborn witch or wizard, like your mother. Of course, there were others that fought against him, but many were too afraid to do so, and others weren’t so much afraid as that they thought him right, just that there shouldn’t be anything overtly done about it, especially not something as vulgar as torture or murder.” Harry’s eyes cloud over and Regulus tries to explain a little better, a little more clearly, “Members of the government argued that it wasn’t a big deal, yet, because he was only targeting muggleborns. And they were, after all, not proper wizards or witches.”

Harry’s fingers grip the arm of his chair tightly, “What about my parents? What did they say?”

“They fought the Dark Lord. There was a… vigilante group composed of those who followed a man named Albus Dumbledore. He fought against the Dark Lord and his chosen followers, the ones called Death Eaters. Your parents were vigilantes. My brother was as well.”

“And you?” Harry asked.

Regulus didn’t hesitate because he knew that would be as good as an admission anyway, “I joined the Dark Lord as a young man, but turned traitor on him towards the end.” His gaze flicks away from Harry for a moment, “I discovered information about him that cracked the foundation of my belief and then, as a result of that fracture, chose to act against him.” Now, Regulus does hesitate, because this isn’t something he’s told anyone, not even those hungry for gossip Ministry members or the reporters that catch a glimpse of his hand. He turns and holds out his left hand to Harry, “I destroyed an artifact that was supposed to help the Dark Lord survive even death. It is the cause behind this injury.”

Only after the words leave his mouth does he look at the boy. Regulus scolds himself for being afraid of what a child would think of him. The nervousness is even more ridiculous considering he has the boy and no one could stop him if he had to silence him or alter his memories. Harry is in his power, wholly and completely, and Regulus has nothing to fear.

Except that his plans won’t be nearly as satisfying or secure if Harry is a puppet and not a partner in his actions. 

Harry is pale and drawn back, fear draining him of color, anger flashing deep in his eyes, “You- You fought my parents?”

“Not directly, but I was present on the same battlefield once or twice,” Regulus grimaced, “Sirius was there as well. We chose to not fight each other if we could help it.”

“Because you were brothers,” Harry said.

“Sirius thought I was misguided. I thought he was an idiot. But we were brothers and did care for each other.”

“Is he dead?” Harry asks suddenly, rocking forward, fingers gripping the arm of his chair once more, “Is that why you won’t introduce me? Because he’s dead and- and- Is that why?” 

Regulus shook his head. “He’s not dead.” He paused, “I can explain if you want me to continue?”

Harry ducked his head. He stared down at his own fingers, “Are you going to hurt me because you were with that Dark Lord and fought my parents?”

“Did you not hear how I turned against him in the end?” Regulus asked. He reached out with his left hand and placed it, three fingers held flat and his scars clearly visible, in Harry’s field of vision. The boy flinched back and jerked his head up to stare at Regulus. “Did you not hear how I destroyed his artifact? I will not turn back to him. He is not worthy of my favor.” He pulls his hand back, “And not least because he is the reason for Sirius’s current state.”

Harry’s breathing was loud, ragged, and he hugged his thin arms around himself. Regulus is momentarily distracted by how thin they look, how clearly he can see the boy’s wrist bones and how too-large his clothing is, draping off of his body like an ill-fitting robe. “Tell me more about my parents,” he demanded, his voice soft but hard.

“They fought the Dark Lord and they became his targets one night, about a year and a half after you were born. They were in hiding, though, and I think that they had been for a while. There’s a charm you can use on a building or place that forces those who know about it to be unable to speak of it and to make it a secret place. There is one chosen to be the Secret Keeper and they are the only one able to speak freely of the secret place. It has to be done willingly, however. A Secret Keeper cannot be tortured into giving up the secret place. Your parents had one of these secret places and my brother was their Secret Keeper.” 

Regulus paused, looking at Harry who went back to staring down at his own hands. He took a drink from his clear glass of water. He didn’t usually have to talk this much and it dried out his throat. The content matter didn’t help much, drawing strength from Regulus and leaving him more and more fatigued as he went on. 

“But  _ he  _ got in somehow,” Harry whispered, “ _ He  _ got in and killed them.”

“He did. Your parents were betrayed.” Regulus looked across to the small couch, empty now, but the black dog hair was visible in places on the deerskin hide. “The common belief at the time was that it was my brother, Sirius, who betrayed them. The reports indicated that he and another of your parent’s friends, a man named Peter Pettigrew, dueled briefly in an alleyway but then a group of muggles were exposed to the fight and killed, along with Pettigrew, and my brother was arrested. He was taken and imprisoned almost immediately.”

More of that rasping breath. Harry trembled and his hands were white as they made tight little fists. “So my godfather- Even he-”

“I may not have been close to Sirius,” Regulus said quickly, cutting off Harry’s cracking voice, “But I knew what kind of man he was. He gave up everything he’d been raised to appreciate or care for in order to be the kind of man that James Potter would call a friend. He left his family. He left his heritage. He abandoned everything he’d known for a new kind of life. Your father was more a brother to him than I was. No, Sirius might have been reckless and wild, but he was true. He did not betray your parents.” He made a fist of his own and stared at the deerskin across the room, “I don’t know for sure who did, but I think it was Pettigrew. The man was a coward and not as well liked as James or Sirius, or even their other friend, Remus. I don’t know how or why they gave him the power of Secret Keeper, but I know if he was given that power it could be frightened out of him. He wasn’t strong the way Sirius is-  _ was. _ ”

“But you don’t know for sure,” Harry whispered.

Regulus scowled, “The belief is that Sirius was secretly a Death Eater but that is absolute nonsense. I would have known if he was. He would not have been able to keep that from me. That and- I have seen his bare arms. I know he doesn’t carry the mark.”

“The mark?” Harry asked. He looked a little less pale, as though the initial shock has worn off, but Regulus thinks he’s still like a yearling ready to bolt, wild around the eyes and trembling. “What mark?”

Regulus grimaces again and his left hand curls. He has to force himself to keep from wrapping his arm across his abdomen. “The Dark Lord marked his favored followers on the left forearm with a skull and snake combined. It was his Dark Mark and his Death Eaters had one.”

“You had one?”

Regulus nodded, “Mine became...altered when my hand became damaged. Sirius didn’t have the mark on his skin and there is no way to remove it save removing your arm entirely.”

“And he still has his?”

Another nod.

Harry slipped into silence then. He reached out and took his glass, staring at it for a long time before sipping the clear, sweet water inside. Regulus watched him out of the corner of his eye but saw only that Harry was gathering himself back together. His trembling stopped by the time he put the glass down.

A strong boy, then. But he expected that. He’d seen the will of his parents, after all. There was no doubt that spirit had bled into Harry, though it would be tempered differently now than it would’ve been under their care. 

“Since Sirius was in jail for his alleged crimes,” Regulus picked up the thread again, “the question of who was to be your guardian fell in the hands of… others.” He took a deep breath, letting it out, keeping himself calm. “As far as I can tell, there was no formal discussion or decision made. You were taken to the home of your aunt that same night and put into her care. Sirius was put into Azkaban, a distant jail on an island with these creatures called dementors on it. Remus Lupin, another family friend, vanished away. I was incapacitated at the time. Even now there is some information I do not know because I have had to search for second-hand information. I did not become available until years afterward.”

“Who was it?” Harry asked, “Who left me with the Dursleys?”

Regulus’s eyes flicked to Harry, “By the accounts I’ve found, it was Dumbledore. It’s a valid move, placing a child with relatives. Often, family homes have protections for those of the blood that you don’t get from wards cast by spells. The longer the family stays in one home, the deeper the feeling, the stronger the magic. Even if they hated you, the blood wards of the place would have protected you like they meant to. Except for one thing.”

He knew the talk of wards and blood and magic went over Harry’s head for the most part. He had a feeling he’d have to explain this part again, but he would. Harry would understand why Regulus did what he did and why he did it when he did it or he would continue to explain until he did. He didn’t make Harry have to ask what the one thing was, though, just looked at him until he was sure he had Harry’s full attention and said, “The only one with magic in that home was you. And though you are young and though I doubt you were conscious of it, your spread of magic was concentrated in and around the places that you were  _ inside  _ the home. Whatever blood wards that should’ve grown there over time, even spurred by your magic alone, were restricted to the places you felt safe. 

“From the outside, it’s impossible to tell the difference between your magic and the seep of blood wards, but inside that home? Well,” Regulus shook his head. He closed his eyes and could imagine the image from a few hours ago now, the hard edge of magic that twisted around the edge of the door he could barely see beneath the stairs. The thing had looked like it was covered in brambles and thorns, dark green and black, twisting in ways impossible to follow with the eye.

He opened his eyes and peered at Harry, “Tell me, did you spend a lot of time beneath the stairs in that cupboard? The door was thick with your magic.”

Harry jumped as if pricked by one of those thorns. He turned a shade of red that made his previous paleness look even more sickly, “You could- You could see it? The magic?”

Regulus nodded. 

“I had magic this whole time,” Harry whispers. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about the cupboard. Regulus lets it go. He has already caught Harry and no one will take him away now. “I didn’t even know. I couldn’t feel it or see it.”

“I’ll teach you how. All it requires is a special way of relaxing the eye,” Regulus said, “At least, if the magic is concentrated enough or strong enough to see. Some glamours can disguise things this way and other times the magic you’re looking for is too weak, just a trace of what is left.”

Harry nodded. He turned things over in his head and, since he was so young and untrained in hiding his expression- or at least had not thought to do so in front of Regulus, correcting himself. After all, he’d known the boy less than a day, no need to think he knew everything of him already, especially with their vastly different experiences. 

Either way, Harry looked thoughtful. He continued to look that way until the door opened, a black snout pushing it open from the ajar state it had been in until he could slip in. Regulus sat up and smiled at Sirius gently. Sirius came over and put his head on Regulus’s knee, breathing out a canine sigh. Regulus stroked him between the ears.

“You wish to know where Sirius is still, don’t you, Harry?” Regulus asked.

Harry looked up and then nodded. “I want to know everything.”

Regulus surprised himself with a chuckle, “Well, I don’t know if I can teach you everything, but I can teach you everything I know.” his hand stilled on the dog’s head and Sirius began to impatiently nose his hand for more petting. 

Harry gave him a smile as quick as a flicker of flame, then he looked serious once more. “Sirius?”

“Was arrested, as I said before, and imprisoned. The Dementors in the prison feed on the happy memories of any human in that place. Sirius was in there for several years, but he had a trick to avoid the monsters’ attention,” Regulus paused and then said with a gesture to Sirius’s head on his knee, “He could transfigure himself into an animal, specifically, Sirius could turn into a canine.”

Harry stared wide-eyed at the dog. He leaned forward, looking from the dog to Regulus and back, “What? You mean he’s pretending to be a dog right now?”

Regulus shook his head, “Not pretending. Not anymore. He turned into a dog and stayed that way for too long. It happens, sometimes, when a wizard or witch turns into an animal, when they transfigure their bodies into an animal’s body, and stay that way for a long time. It’s not wise to stay in an animal form for more than a few months. To stay years is a danger.” Then he grimaced, “That and I think he- I don’t know this for sure but I think that he tried to turn his memories into something that couldn’t be taken from him. Maybe he could feel that the memories of a dog couldn’t be taken from him the way the memories of a man could be. He still has them in there, somewhere. He likes similar things as he did as a human, but he’s no longer human. He’s...Padfoot now.”

At the correct name, Padfoot’s tail begins to wag and his eyes open, looking expectantly up at Regulus. Regulus sighed heavily. “He doesn’t respond to Sirius anymore. Just to the name he had as a dog with his friends. Padfoot.” Another sweeping wag of the tail. Padfoot pressed closer for more petting.

“Padfoot,” Harry repeated. The dog cocked his head at him, clearly curious but still more familiar with Regulus and more concerned with him. Regulus lifted his hand and made a little flicking gesture to Harry. 

“Go ahead,” Regulus said, “Call him to you.”

“Padfoot,” Harry said again, holding out a hand.

“Go on,” Regulus said to the dog. He got a look from those dark eyes but Sirius went to Harry and sniffed him again. Harry tentatively pet his head, which Sirius appreciated and so he leaned against him and the chair, sitting and getting his head pet. 

“There’s no way to bring him back?” Harry asked quietly, not looking up.

“There isn’t.” Regulus said. “I’ve looked.” He’s done his own search of the books in the Black libraries as well as a private healer. He’s also looked into Sirius’s mind and that to a totally normal dog. The results were unmistakable. “He’s no longer a man. He escaped into his dog form permanently, in mind and body.”

“Oh,” Harry’s voice was so soft. The word left him sounding breathless. Regulus said nothing. He just watched as Harry gently pet the soft black fur, just watched as Sirius settled in contentment against Harry’s legs and the chair. 

He picked up his glass of water and sat back with a sigh. Watching Harry quietly, Regulus though he’d cleared the first and most treacherous hurdle with Harry. From this foundation, he would build a new future for them both.

He glanced to Sirius and his mouth tightened into a thin line. He’d build a future for all  _ three  _ of them. A good one, a strong one. No matter what it took.


	3. And a Walk-In Closet, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets a tour of his rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im pretending its monday and posting this now.

Harry’s never felt so full in all his life.

If it was just the food, he thinks he could remember a couple of times when he’s eaten near to bursting, but he can count the times on one hand. But it’s not just the food. It’s everything Regulus told him about his parents, about Sirius, about the wizarding world. Regulus has stuffed his head with so much information that Harry doesn’t know what to do with it all. He feels like a sodden sponge floating amid a sink of soapy water, so heavy with water that he’s surprised he doesn’t actually sink down.

The absolute most he’s ever heard of his parents was that they were drunks and died in a car accident. He never knew about their magic or the war they fought or any of their friends or any enemies or what they were like or anything about them. He knew their names. He knew they were dead. He knew it was an accident. Except it wasn’t an accident. They were _murdered._

And he would’ve been too but… wasn’t. Somehow. Regulus doesn’t know how. He says he wasn’t there when it happens, which Harry believes, but he hasn’t explained _why_ he wasn’t there. Well, he sort of has. If the Dark Lord is the one who killed Harry’s parents and Regulus actually was betraying him, then he probably would want to avoid him. Harry would’ve.

Harry wouldn’t have followed the Dark Lord in the first place, but that’s different. Regulus said he was young when he did it and Petunia used to mutter about _rebellious teenagers_ under her breath when those older kids went down the street in groups too and from the park so maybe it was like that. Harry kind of wants to know why Regulus would join someone who wants to hurt other people but he also doesn’t want to know.

He doesn’t want to go back to the Dursleys and even if Regulus scares him, he hasn’t actually hurt Harry at all. He’s fed him and talked to him and barely touched him at all. Maybe he’s not telling the truth to Harry, but that’s fine for now. If he is lying, it’ll come out later. It always does. Lying just doesn’t work.

Regulus treats Harry both like he’ll break if Regulus tells him too much or moves too fast and also the way Harry’s seen adults treat each other, but not children and especially not him. He didn’t baby his words or dance around the truth. He said Harry’s parents were dead, not _in a better place._ He said Sirius had turned into a dog permanently and that he’d never turn back instead of just saying he’d died and the dog Padfoot was unrelated to Sirius’s situation. He’d told Harry the truth about serving the Dark Lord instead of lying about it. Harry would’ve believed him if he’d lied about it, of course he would’ve. It’s not like he knew about the mark on the arm, so even if he’d seen it, he wouldn’t know.

But Regulus had told him the truth, even when it felt like Harry _was_ made of glass and was about to shatter into a million tiny bits, Regulus told him the truth. He did it and expected Harry to listen and not to cry and shout. Well, maybe. Maybe Regulus expected him to be more upset than he was showing, maybe that’s why he treated Harry as carefully as he did.

Harry couldn’t be sure. He’d just met Regulus. He hadn’t figured him out all the way yet. But he did appreciate it. The honesty. The way Regulus talked to him. Maybe he was still just a kid but he wasn’t like other kids. He knew things weren’t always great.

Still, he _was_ just a kid and he felt even _more_ of a kid when Regulus said they were done talking in the Hunting Room and it was time to show him _his_ rooms.

His _rooms._ Plural.

Harry was excited and nervous and thought he might throw up the chocolate pudding that he’d spent the last half hour eating while Regulus told him about less serious stuff, like some of the shopping they would have to do. (Harry has never been so excited to go shopping in all his whole life. Wizard shops. _Wizard shops._ He’s going to lose his mind!)

He followed Regulus around the mansion, down a hallway and up some stairs and to a set of big double doors. He feels a little bad that they left Padfoot behind but Regulus said it was okay. It’s not like Regulus told Padfoot to stay behind. The dog had curled up on the two-seater couch with the big animal skin on it and went to sleep while Regulus told him about the shops. Regulus said that was his favorite place to sleep and to leave him there.

Still, Harry felt bad about it. That was his godfather, sort of. Or maybe now Regulus was his godfather since his godfather had turned into a dog? Harry wasn’t sure. Maybe the rules were different for wizards.

Harry shook himself to get free of the distraction. His brain was a cluttered mess right now, scattered thoughts picking up and fluttering around inside his head and he was too anxious and too tired and too excited to catch them all and hold them down. He looks up at Regulus, who stands at the door with his hands behind his back and a patient look on his face. Harry flushes and then opens the doors as he thinks he’s supposed to. The doors open to a hallway much like the one they’re already in and he can see five doors in the hall. Two on the left, two on the right, one at the very far end.

“You can leave these two doors open if you like,” Regulus said with a nod to the double doors. “There is an enchantment to muffle sound moving through the open doorway but that doesn’t apply to actual shouting, in case something happens.” To show the charm in effect, Regulus steps through the doors and starts talking on the other side. Harry sees his mouth moving and can hear sound but it's like listening to talking while he’s underwater, there’s sound but no definition to it.

Harry sticks his head through the doorway and immediately Regulus’s words are clear again, “...just like that. You see? It works.”

“It’s amazing,” Harry said. And it was, too. Even if Regulus looks at him like that won’t be the most amazing thing Harry sees, it’s still _amazing._ It’s _magic._ Harry’s interacting with _magic_ now. He’s going to become a wizard and use magic on his own, too!

“Let me show you around,” Regulus said, turning from the open doors. “Here on the left is a library and study. It’s mostly empty right now because I had no idea what kind of books you’d like or what we’d need to get you to start with. You’ll find everything you need to take notes or write letters or keep a journal in the desk.”  He goes to the left door and opens it, gesturing to the furniture inside. The room is lit with a standing candle lamp in one corner, burning merrily away and showing rows and rows of empty bookshelves and a lone desk. The desk itself is as big as the kitchen table at the Dursleys and has dozens of drawers on either side and on a shelf against the wall. “There may or may not be a few hidden compartments in the desk,” Regulus said with a shining in his eyes, “If you find them, maybe you will show them to me, maybe you will not.”

Harry grips his shirt tightly with both hands to keep from running over and poking through every drawer. Hidden things? What kinds of hidden things? He wants to know and to explore and to see-

“This floo here isn’t open to the outside connection, yet,” Regulus says, gesturing to the fireplace that sits across the room from the desk. “It’s primarily to allow you to contact me if I’m elsewhere in the house and you don’t want to leave your rooms. When you’re older, we’ll connect it to the general floo network so you can use it as it should be used.”

Harry nods, though he has no idea how he’ll use a fireplace to talk to Regulus. Is it like a phone? Maybe. Regulus talks about it like it is, which is amazing. It must be more magic, which is very exciting. “You’ll show me how to use it?”

“Of course,” Regulus said with a nod, “Every witch and wizard should know how to communicate and travel by floo, you won’t be an exception.”

Harry nods again. Regulus steps out of the room and goes to the next one. Harry follows eagerly, wondering what this second room could possibly hold in it. When Regulus opens the door and Harry steps into a completely barren room, only with the same hardwood floors as the rest of the house and two windows, and looks around in confusion. Even the walls are blank, showing the pale white stone that is beneath the panels or paint of other walls.

“This room is yours to use as you like, in any way you like,” Regulus said. “There are plenty of hobbies and skills that young wizards take up. Potions, herbology, alchemy, spell creation, woodworking, bookbinding, divination, even cooking- It would be presumptuous of me to assume you’d like one thing rather than another. Maybe you’ll fill it with toys. Hell if I know what you’ll do with it, but everyone should have a room for their hobby. However, if you _do_ take an interest in plants and outdoor things like that, let me know. The greenhouse would be far more suitable a location for that.”

For some reason, Harry can’t stop staring at the empty walls. He walks into the middle of the room and just turns around slowly, looking at it. The windows are the only source of light, pouring in the evening sunlight in red and orange. Harry feels his chest grow tight as he realizes he could just have a huge empty room with nothing in it and it would still be _his._ “What if-” he starts, then stops. Then he looks at Regulus and asks, “What if I just leave it empty?”

Regulus shrugs, “It’s your room. Do whatever you want to it. Just don’t do any demolishing of the walls without assistance. We can always expand the room with wizard space if necessary.”

“Wizard space,” Harry whispers to himself. Can wizards just make rooms bigger with magical space? He can’t imagine the room being any bigger than it is now but maybe if he does fill it up with things it’ll get that he’ll need it to be bigger. His head swims with possibility then, thinking of all the toys and things he’d seen Dudley get, other kids at school have, that he didn’t even have the room to keep in his cupboard.

“Come on, Harry,” Regulus says and he sounds amused. Harry doesn’t have it in him to be upset that Regulus is laughing at him. He’s just dazed. There were three more doors. Three more rooms that were _all his._ What is he going to _do_ with all of them?

He follows Regulus to the third door, the one at the very end of the hall. Regulus shows him the bolt on this door and right away Harry’s attention is focused on how different this door looks than the others. It’s big and looks heavy. He thinks it looks a lot more like the double doors that lead to the rest of the mansion than the smaller, more square doors that lead to his individual rooms.

His heart hammers in his chest as Regulus opens the door and it creaks on its hinges. Regulus murmurs something about having Kreacher fix that and then steps through. Harry feels the cold air before he follows and shivers violently as it sweeps over him. They step into a circular stone room, dimly lit and with a high, vaulted ceiling. Regulus draws his wand and sweeps it through the air.

Eight curtains, taller than Harry, taller than Regulus, pull open and reveal eight openings in the stone wall. He realizes with a jolt that they’re on the second floor of the manor and he can see out over the back half of the grounds. The green sweeps out before him, wild and untamed, with grass that probably goes up to his hips, at least, and wildflowers like the ones Kreacher brought into the Hunting Room. The openings arch high above them and though they’re kind of narrow, they let in plenty of light and the summer night breeze. Harry can see the edge of the sun setting over the forest in the west and the darkening sky in the east. He looks inside the room and sees a circle drawn into the floor.

He looks harder at it and realizes it’s not a circle but a polygon. He counts the angles and sides under his breath, finding eight corners and nine sides, making it a nonagon. The door is one side of the nonagon and each of the windows is on another side. He looks curiously from the floor to the walls and, in one of these passes, he notices Regulus looking at him.

“What’s this room?” Harry asks because it’s definitely a room, not just a balcony out over the grounds.

“It’s been used for many things,” Regulus says, “I see you’ve noticed the ritual circle. The stones here are set in a particular way so that when you stand in the center of the room, you are at the center of the room’s structure and strength. But this room can be used for other things, too. One great aunt of mine used it to roost her ravens up above,” he points to the high ceilings and the beams that support the roof. Harry notices that they mimic the circle of the floor below with a nonagon in the center made out of supporting beams while the rest of them converge on a single point in the very center.

“What kind of ritual do you do here?” Harry asked.

“Many kinds,” Regulus said, “Some rituals demand perfect circles and some other shapes, but this one tends to be particular to the planets who rotate the sun.” He points to each side with one finger of his right hand, “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto. And at the center, the sun.” He pointed.

At that moment, the light of the setting sun slid through the western windows in a golden ray and slanted across the center of the ritual circle. Harry saw a glimmer in the middle, a small golden circle he hadn’t noticed before. He stared at it, glinting in the dying sunlight and then looked up at Regulus, “Will you teach me more about the rituals done here?”

Regulus nods, “If you like. I’m sure we can find some books in the library downstairs about it.”

_“Augh,”_ Harry says, moans really, before he can stop himself.  “There’s so much to learn,” Harry dragged a hand through his hair. “There’s so much to _do.”_

Regulus laughs and at first Harry doesn’t realize it because it doesn’t sound like the Dursleys laughing or anyone else. It’s soft, half stifled behind his hand, like he doesn’t think he should laugh. That breaks Harry’s heart. Sure, Regulus might’ve been bad before but he’s been nice to Harry. He’s fed him and given him somewhere to live away from the Dursleys and he just says he’ll teach Harry and take care of Harry and Harry’s just now realizing that Regulus lives alone in this big house with a dog who used to be his brother and he must have been so _alone_ and Harry can’t think that that’s much better than the cupboard. After all, it wasn’t the tiny space or the spiders or the dark that was the worst part for Harry, it was the loneliness. It was not having anyone to talk to, not have anyone to tell jokes with, not having anyone to _trust._

_He’s doing all this for me, the least I can do is be nice to him and be his friend,_ Harry thinks.

Regulus’s laugh fades and he gives Harry that weird little half-smile, like Harry's done something amusing and Regulus can’t resist the urge to tease him, “Now, now, why such a serious face, Harry? You’ll have plenty of time to do all the things you-” Regulus falls silent as Harry walks over to him, moving quickly before he breaks his own nerve.

Harry realizes about two steps away from Regulus that he’s never actually hugged anyone before. He can’t remember if it happened when he was a baby and that doesn’t really count anyway because it was before he was at the Dursleys and they never hugged him.

But he’s seen it on the telly and he’s seen other kids do it at school and he’s seen Petunia hug Dudley so he figures he can do it _because_ he’s seen it before. So he commits, even when he wants to falter on the last step, and puts his arms around Regulus’s middle. His cheek presses against Regulus’s shirt and he can feel and hear the way Regulus’s breath shudders in his lungs and his heartbeat jumps.

Harry closes his eyes tightly. He counts to five in his head, ready to pull away because that seems long enough, but stops when he feels that almost-there touch that Regulus does to his shoulder. He acts like he can’t touch Harry like he’s scared to or doesn’t think he should. Harry squeezes him tighter and Regulus makes a wheezing sort of sound. His hand comes down harder on Harry’s shoulder, his arm across Harry’s back and Regulus lets out a long breath.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers fiercely. _“Thank you.”_

Regulus’s fingers tighten on his shoulder hard enough that Harry would wince if he wasn’t used to the pain already, and he says nothing.

Harry pulls away slowly. His face feels flushed with embarrassment but his chest feels lighter and he feels less overburdened with his thoughts and emotions. With a clear head, he looks up at Regulus.

Regulus blinks down at him and then gives that little smile, “And I haven’t even shown you your bedroom yet,” His eyes are shining with what Harry hopes desperately is happiness and he gestures to the open door, “I’ve saved the best for last. Come on, Harry.”

Harry nods and ducks back through the door. Regulus closes and latches it again and then leads him to the second to last room. Regulus opens it and steps in, smiling faintly. Harry hurries eagerly after him and then stops dead two feet into the room.

He should’ve guessed that one of the rooms was a bathroom, he really should’ve, but he didn’t and now he feels dumb for not guessing. He also feels dumb for gaping because there’s a big mirror showing just how dumb he looks with his mouth hanging open. He shuts it with a snap and looks at everything while Regulus points out the essentials.

“Here are the linens, Kreacher will keep things stocked and clean for you of course. Anything you want to wear again you should hang up over there, anything you’re ready to wash goes in here. Soaps and such will be restocked by Kreacher. If you want to change something, like a scent or something, just tell him and he’ll exchange it for something else. Here’s the tub.” He gestured to the huge basin in the corner of the room. It was elevated slightly from the floor and had a slightly raised step to make it easier to get in and out of. Harry stared at it and wondered how he’d ever use such a thing. He thinks he could sleep in it, it’s so big.

Regulus taps the two nozzles on either side of the spigot, “Hot water. Cold water.” Then he goes to the dials under those and says, “This switch will exchange the water from fresh to salt. This one will adjust the jets and bubbles. This one deploys salts and soaps to foam the water.” Then he lifts his hand to a chain dangling from above. Harry blinks in surprise at the showerhead. He hadn’t even noticed it. “Use this to rinse off from the bath if you must, but shower in the shower over there- the water pressure is better for it.”

Regulus points beyond the tub, which sits nestled in the side of the wall, to the far corner where there is a semi-opaque glass door pulled open to reveal the shower inside. “That just has hot and cold water and the necessary soaps.”

Harry nods numbly. He has his own bathroom.

It’s huge. It’s so damn big. Harry dazedly follows Regulus as he points him to a door. It’s not the door they came in through, from the hallway, it’s a different one, smaller and less noticeable. Harry wonders if it’s to the linens but no, he saw that already. Regulus urges him to go through the door with a gentle touch and Harry does so. He fumbles the handle because, oh god a _whole bathroom,_ but gets through it and into the room beyond.

A bedroom.

It’s a bedroom.

Harry walks into it and stops. It’s suddenly hard to breathe. The room doesn’t look much different from the others: dark wood floors, a few windows, sparse furniture of also dark wood, and mostly blank walls though these ones are blue. At least he thinks they’re blue. They start so close to white at the top and end so close to black at the bottom that if he didn’t see the way they shine into a rich sapphire two-thirds of the way down he’d think it was a white to black gradient. There’s a small desk tucked into a corner with a comfortable chair in front of it, there’s a fireplace in this room, too, though Harry doesn’t think it’s one of the special ones. It’s just a regular fireplace.

Regulus lights the fire and puts a log on it while Harry turns slowly in the middle of the room. There’s a rug beside the bed and he can tell already it looks thick and soft and will keep his feet warm when he walks barefoot onto it. The bed itself is…

If he had thought the bathtub was big, Harry figures the bed is enormous. He looks longingly at it, one hand resting on one of the four tall posts and the other touching the quilt on top. The quilt on top is blue and green and white and purple and he runs his hand over it, feeling the fine stitching and noticing little pops of gold like stars. Someone cut out dozens of tiny purple and white triangles and scattered them amid a huge blue field. Where the triangles aren’t, there are tiny knots made of gold thread, made in clusters that Harry guesses must be different constellations. Green edges the entire quilt as if to make a point that this is a night sky seen from earth.  

Harry wonders who made the quilt and how old it is. He pulls his hand back from it and looks at Regulus.

Regulus is watching him from another open door, not to the bathroom, but to a closet. Harry knows what a closet looks like from the quality of darkness inside. Regulus smiles, tilts his head towards the open door, and says, “Some clothes are in here for you. We’ll get some tailored things later, but for now, I had Kreacher adjust some older things to fit you. It’ll do.”

Harry nods. He can’t go into the closet now. He’ll probably cry if he does. He already feels himself trembling again. It’s like hearing about his parents. He’d always wanted to know more about them, know what happened and why and to be rescued from the Dursleys. He’d also always wanted his own bedroom, his own bed, his own home where someone who loved him took care of him like a family was supposed to do.

Regulus has given him both of those things. Harry doesn’t know how he’ll ever pay him back. Making sure Regulus isn’t lonely anymore doesn’t seem like enough.

His vision blurs and he quickly ducks his head, blinking hard. “Thank you, Regulus,” he says again because he’s so grateful it’s choking him. “Thank you so much.”

He knows Regulus is watching him so he fights back his tears and turns to look at him again. Regulus has that expression he wore when he was talking about Sirius turning into Padfoot. It’s sad and full of something heavier like guilt or regret. Harry bites his lip and twists his hand in his shirt.

“You’re welcome, Harry,” Regulus says gently, “You’ve had a long day today. Why don’t you settle into your rooms for now, hm? Take a bath and get some rest. We can talk more in the morning.”

“A bath,” Harry repeats. He shivers at the thought of stepping into that giant tub. He wants to do it but it seems like too much, it’s all _so much._ He ducks his head against the new tears and sits down heavily on the side of the bed. It’s soft and sinks under him, but he’s light so it doesn’t sink very much.

Regulus is quiet for a moment, but then Harry hears him walk across the room. He sees Regulus’s boots first and then his face as Regulus goes down to one knee in front of him. His right hand is on his bent knee, curled almost into a fist but not quite, “Take as much time as you need to adjust, Harry. You spent a lot of time with those muggles and you’re going to need to recover from that. It’s all right. You’re safe here. I promise.”

Harry has to close his eyes because he believes that, he _believes_ Regulus. He _is_ safe here. But at the same time he needs to think about his parents and about what Regulus told him and he needs to think about what happened today and if he’s okay with that and the rooms, oh the rooms, he’s got to think about so much and just letting himself believe in Regulus’s promise is enough to tip him over the edge. He sniffles and nods his head and ducks his chin and tries not to let Regulus see him cry.

He holds still when he feels Regulus gently touch his knee. “If you need me, summon Kreacher and he can fetch me. Just rest, for now, Harry. It will be better in the morning, you’ll see.”

Harry nods and bites his tongue. It’s already better, even if he wants to cry, it’s already better than it was. Regulus pats his knee once and then Harry hears him stand up. Regulus says goodnight and Harry mumbles something back and then he hears the door open and shut.

Harry takes a deep gasping breath and then turns. He falls down onto the bed, face pressed into that soft, so carefully stitched, beautiful and probably priceless family heirloom of a quilt and he begins to cry the silent, painful tears of relief and grief.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Regulus stands outside Harry’s bedroom door with his hands as fists at his side. His side still aches from where Harry’s skinny arms hugged him so tightly his ribs creaked. He thinks Sirius used to hug like that like he needed to squeeze the air out of the person he was hugging, but Sirius did it because he was fiercely exuberant. Harry does it with a desperation that makes Regulus’s chest ache for reasons other than too-tight hugs.

He sighs quietly and shakes his head. He’ll give Harry some peace, find some for himself and then in the morning, things will be easier. Harry will already be here, for one, and he’ll be better rested and Regulus will make sure he’s fed and then-

Looking up, Regulus turns to the doorway at the sound of clicking claws on the wood. Sirius trots around the corner and up to him, tail swishing slightly and feet moving lightly. Regulus reaches down and greets him with a pat between the ears. Sirius glances past Regulus to the closed door, ears perked like he can hear something Regulus can’t.

“Not tonight, brother,” Regulus murmurs as quietly as he can, “We must both leave him be. Come, you must be hungry. Let’s get you dinner, Padfoot.” He walks away from Harry’s door.

After a silent moment, Sirius turns and follows him. Even for a loyal dog, the allure of dinner can be too much to resist. Regulus smiles and strides down towards the kitchens, feeling lighter than he has in days despite his fatigue.


	4. The Heir to the Spare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus offers Harry a choice.

Regulus waits for Harry at breakfast with a nervous energy that makes him pick up and put down the paper several times. If there was anyone else to see his actions, Regulus would probably smooth them out to stillness but the only people in the house are he and Harry; Sirius and Kreacher don’t count because they are a dog and a house-elf, respectively.

Sirius isn’t even in the room, as Regulus let him out to run around in the dew-heavy grass of the morning. It’s just Regulus sitting alone at the dining table in the smaller of the two dining rooms, the one made for family, not entertaining. He sips lightly at his coffee but doesn’t want to start eating until he’s sure Harry can find his way to breakfast.

There’s an uncertainness that has settled across Regulus’s shoulders, a murmuring of doubt that makes him question what he’s done. He’s stolen the boy from blood family and hidden him away. He’s not going to get away with this, not with the Boy-Who-Lived. Too many people will notice. Too many people will care. Not only that, but he told Harry too much- about his parents, about Sirius, about Regulus himself- he said too much and the boy will fear him and hate him. What did he think he was doing, confessing his allegiance to the Dark Lord? Even if he’d turned traitor in the end, what did that mean to an eight-year-old boy? It wasn’t as though he knew what Regulus had done, what he’d destroyed, what sacrifice he made to get rid of the Dark Lord’s Horcrux-

The door opens and Regulus just barely keeps himself from freezing. He sets his coffee cup back down and busily picks the paper back up. Harry pokes his head around the door and then creeps into the room. His eyes are fixed on the food, the scones and eggs and bacon and toast and juice and fruit and the rest of it- Kreacher’s made a larger spread than Regulus would eat himself, but neither one of them knew what Harry would like best. 

Regulus made a show of folding the paper he’d just picked up and nodding to Harry. He reached for his cup, “Good morning, Harry.”

“G’mornin’,” Harry mumbled. He moved with almost absolute silence across the floor, even in bare feet, and Regulus would be impressed if he didn’t have a feeling he knew where such soft footsteps came from. Harry hesitated by the one other chair at the table and then sat down. 

“Did you sleep well?” Regulus asked after a sip of his coffee.

Harry nodded. His eyes darted up from the plate of bacon in front of him to Regulus’s face. 

“Go ahead and serve yourself,” Regulus murmured. “There’s plenty for us both.”

Harry nodded again. Still, he hesitated before he moved. The longer they sat in silence, Regulus carefully not staring at every twitch of the boy’s hands, the more he relaxed though. Soon he served himself some food and was nibbling at it. The nibbling gave way to larger bites and more food being brought to his plate.

Regulus’s stomach unclenched and he reached for his own toast and breakfast. There was nothing but the sound of utensils and the crunch of bread and the clink of Regulus’s cup lifting and setting in its saucer for several long, filling moments. Regulus flipped idly through the paper, The Prophet first, and didn’t find much of interest to read. When he reached the end of the paper, he folded it up and then hesitated.

Harry looked at him curiously, crumbs on his fingers and looking happier with bacon piled on buttered pieces of toast. Regulus slid the paper over towards him, “I have a subscription to several papers, though they’re all mostly rubbish. It takes some skill to parse the truth from the exaggeration, but then again, I am far more critical than the general reader. If you like, you can look at these and see if there’s anything interesting in them.”

Harry nodded and pulled the paper close to himself. His mouth dropped open when he saw the front page, “It’s  _ moving,”  _ he said.

“The picture? Oh yes,” Regulus said, “Did you not notice the portraits on the walls?”

“I did,” Harry said, tracing one finger along the edge of the picture. It was some photo of the Aurors dragging in some criminal or another into the ministry. The Aurors in the image were looking back and forth menacingly, keeping back a crowd as the criminals were marched past in chains. Above the image was the headline declaring the smuggling ring that had plagued the ministry for months was finally put to an end. “But I thought those were special magic because they were paintings. I didn’t know every picture could move.”

“The paintings are a different kind of magic,” Regulus said, “They can contain the memories and echoes of personality for the people painted there if the magic is done right and the paintings are made while the person is alive. The moving pictures are a different, but similar kind of magic. I don’t know the details but I’m sure we could find a book on the subject.”

“Wow,” Harry whispered, staring at the picture for a while longer. Then he began to flip through the paper, exclaiming over other pictures that he found inside. Regulus smiled and peeled himself an orange. 

Regulus considered breakfast a success after that. Harry didn’t bother reading much of any of the papers but he delighted in the pictures. He ate a full meal, toast and eggs and bacon and plenty of juice, and though he covered himself and the table with buttery crumbs, Regulus prized the boy’s happiness over his manners. He hardly expected muggles to be able to teach a child to eat properly when they barely chose to feed him. 

Watching Harry, Regulus decided that all lessons in etiquette would be done separately from actual meals. There were enough negative strings tied to how he ate; Regulus wasn’t about to add any more.

He stayed for as long as Harry did and they both ended up staying long enough for Sirius to come trotting in, damp from running through the dewy grass and hungry. Sirius put his wet head on Regulus’s knee, greeting him with dark eyes and a wag of the tail. Regulus pat him idly and called to Kreacher.

Kreacher appeared with the covered dish for Sirius, who immediately perked up and followed Kreacher to the corner of the room where his food was placed down and uncovered. Regulus caught Harry’s eyes and gave him a little smile, “Kreacher prepares Sirius’s meals just like he prepares ours, though more for the taste of a dog.”

Harry nodded and watched silently for a while before saying, “It’s good that he doesn’t have to eat dog food, even if he is stuck as a dog.”

“I agree,” Regulus said. He turned his attention to Harry again, “I have something I’d like to discuss with you, Harry, if you’re finished with your breakfast?”

Harry fiddled with a bit of bacon, eyes down, “Can I ask what it’s about?”

“Of course,” Regulus said. “It’s about something I told Kreacher yesterday, that we didn’t get around to discussing. It is important, but not as important as what happened to your parents or to Sirius.”

Harry looked up at him with just his eyes, peering at Regulus through his bangs. “What is it?”

“Do you remember when I instructed Kreacher to treat you as he would my heir?”

A nod.

“What do you think about that? Would you like to be my heir?” 

Harry worried his lip in silence. 

Regulus waited, sipping the last of his coffee. He set down the cup and Harry twitched at the clink of porcelain. “Well?” He asked.

“I don’t know?” Harry finally said, “I don’t know… what it means. To be an heir. Does that mean- Are you going to adopt me?”

“Sort of,” Regulus said, “There are a couple of ways to become an heir and several different types of heirs that exist for family lines such as mine. Larger families might have one heir who becomes the patron of the entire family and thus in charge of all the funds and family decisions and inheritances and such for the entire extended family. Or they might split up the positions and have heirs of the blood and heirs of the name. There are ways to share blood between individuals, creating heirs of the blood even to adopted members of the family or to non-family members in the case of lordship bonds or the ending of a line.” Regulus saw Harry’s frown press a line between his dark brows. He gave a little smile, “What I would like to do is have you the heir of my name while you maintain your heir to the Potter family’s blood. Black blood may be pure but it is full of madness. If I could have my family name live on without the family’s tendency to spiral into madness, I would consider my legacy a success.”

“An heir of the name,” Harry muttered to words to himself, “But I still don’t know what that means.”

“It means you would get another name,” Regulus said, “You could keep your name you have now, Harry James Potter, as your personal, private name. Perhaps you’ll let those closest to you call you by that name, or if you were to act as a representative of your Potter bloodline you would use that name. Otherwise, you’ll act in the name of Black and have a different name for when you are a Black.”

“It sounds kind of like being adopted,” Harry said, “Wouldn’t being your heir make you my...father?”

“If that’s the kind of relationship we should have, then I could be your adopted father,” Regulus said, leaning forward slightly. Kreacher took the cue they were done with their meal and floated the dishes away, all except their cups which he refilled. “If it would make you happy, we could become that kind of family.”

“But you don’t want to be my father?” Harry asked. With his plate and scraps of food gone, he had only the edge of the tablecloth to fiddle with so he didn’t have to meet Regulus’s gaze.

“I didn’t think you would want someone to replace your birth parents,” Regulus answered.

Harry was quiet for a while, chewing over this information. Regulus waited. Pushing Harry into one choice or another would only be trouble for them both in the long run. Besides, now that breakfast was done, there was nothing else that Regulus had planned to take care of this morning besides this conversation.

He needed to know Harry’s thoughts on the matter and make sure the boy was informed enough to make a conscious decision. Yes, he was young, far younger than Regulus had been when discussing the responsibilities of being the heir with his parents, but Regulus didn’t have time to wait for Harry to grow up and make the decision in a few years. Sooner or later, someone would discover Harry was missing and they’d come looking for him. Regulus didn’t believe that the Boy-Who-Lived could be shuttered away with absolutely no one from the wizarding world aware of his situation. 

He needed to make Harry his heir and keep him from being snatched away by well-intentioned (or not) individuals. 

“But you… you said I could still be Harry Potter, even if I was also a Black?” Harry asked, looking up at Regulus, “And I would know that I had other parents even if I called you my dad. There was a kid in my primary class who had two dads because his parents got a divorce and his mom married someone else. It would be like that except I wouldn’t go to their house on holiday. I’d be here with you and we’d be a… family.” His brows arched up and he looked at Regulus with a desperate, hopeful gleam in his eyes, “Right? If I become your heir and you adopt me, we’ll be a family?”

“Our family portrait would be a strange one,” Regulus said with a twist of amusement in his tone, “Should we list Sirius as my brother and your godfather or as our dog?”

Harry considered Regulus’s poor joke seriously for a moment and then said, “Sirius is your brother and my godfather and  _ Padfoot  _ is our dog. So, a family of four, but one of us is..not here?”

“A man, a boy, a dog, and a memory. A fine family indeed.” Regulus murmured.

“But you don’t have to adopt me if you don’t want to,” Harry said suddenly, leaning forward and pinning Regulus with an earnest expression, “You’ve already done so much for me. You took me away from the Dursleys and showed me magic and gave me my own rooms- You don’t have to adopt me too if you don’t want to, Regulus. I’ll- I’ll find another way to pay you back-”

He stopped when Regulus put his hand up. Regulus sighed and lowered his hand, “It’s not that I don’t want to adopt you, Harry, I just don’t want you to regret it later. If I become your adopted father and you become my heir, I will take my responsibility seriously. I’m already planning on getting you tutors to catch up your education but this will add another layer to the things I need to teach you and will, eventually, lay some important responsibilities at your feet. I have already decided I would like you to be my heir. You need to decide if you accept that or not. If you want us to be a family as well, I can and will formally adopt you. But I want you to think about it. I want you to know for sure that this is what you want.”

“I do-” Harry said almost immediately, but he stopped when Regulus frowned at him. 

“I want you to think about it, Harry. Spend the morning. Take all day. Think about it. Ask me questions about what you’d have to learn as an heir. Think about calling me Father instead of Regulus. You don’t have to make the decision right now and I won’t let you tell me what you decide until tomorrow at the earliest.” Regulus folded his arms across his chest. Harry didn’t shrink too much under his frown, but he did stare down at his hands in his lap instead of at Regulus or even at the tablecloth. “Will you do that for me?”

Harry nodded several times. “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Regulus smiled. “I do have a letter I need to write, so I’ll go take care of that. If you need me afterward, you can either come searching or ask Kreacher. I shouldn’t be too hard to find.” He pushed his chair back and stood. Harry nodded to him again but still didn’t look up from his hands. Regulus let him to his thoughts and left the room. 

He had a feeling one day of ‘thinking about it’ wasn’t likely to change Harry’s choice, but he had to teach the boy some patience  _ somehow.  _

 

 

* * *

 

 

A father. A  _ family.  _ Someone to look out for him and care for him and make sure he had food and to be there when he had nightmares and to buy him clothes that fit and to read books to him and buy him presents and tell him stories and who  _ trusted him _ and who he could trust-

Harry stared at his hands in his lap, tightened into two small fists as he forced himself to breathe in and out slowly. He could have a father who cared about him and would love him and that he could love and care about and all he had to do was be the Black heir? 

Maybe he would have to do some scary things as the Black heir that he might not want to do, but if Regulus needed him to do them- if Regulus wanted him to do them- Harry would. Harry had to repay Regulus for saving him. He had to show he was really, truly grateful. He had to show that Regulus had made the right choice in saving him, in keeping him. Harry would be a good heir, the  _ best  _ heir. 

Harry would be a Black and Regulus would be his father and Padfoot would be his dog and Harry would have his new family to make up for his old family being dead.

Maybe his parents would be sad that he was getting a new father, but he didn’t think so. Parents were supposed to want their kids to be happy and having a family would make Harry happy. And he didn’t think Regulus would make him forget about his first family. Regulus would just give Harry a  _ new  _ family.

A  _ father.  _ A  _ family.  _

Harry couldn’t stop grinning.

 


	5. Meanings and Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes his choice. Regulus gathers materials.

Harry decided to wait until after breakfast the next day to tell Regulus his decision. He didn’t want to seem like he was making a quick decision since it seemed important to Regulus that he took his time to think it through. Harry didn’t think he said that because Harry was a kid and more likely to do something dumb  _ because  _ he was a kid. He thought Regulus said that because he didn’t understand how much Harry wanted a family, how much he’d always wanted a family.

He would’ve liked even better if he could have a mother as well as a father, but it was all right to just have a father. Even one parent was better than no parents. And it wasn’t like there was another kid to share attention between. There was just Padfoot, whom Regulus just let do whatever he liked to do.

So, trying not to seem too excited, Harry sought out Regulus after breakfast on the second morning. He considered having Kreacher lead him to Regulus, but after wandering a little bit he discovered the house wasn’t  _ that  _ big. Yes, he probably still could get lost if he went the wrong way too many times, but all the hallways came back to the same big entryway and he could figure out which way to go from there.

Harry found Regulus in a library on the first floor, sitting in a large, comfortable looking chair with a book in his lap. Regulus looked up when Harry eased quietly into the room. He gave a little smile and rested his hand on the book as if to keep his place. “Hello, Harry.”

Harry came in and stood in front of him, fidgeting and trying not to, “Hello. I do have a question about becoming the heir, Regulus.”

Regulus nodded, “What is it?”

“What would my new name be? Have you already thought of one?”

“I have,” Regulus said, “It follows the theme our family likes to use with the stars and it should be a fine fit for you. But I can’t tell it to you until we’re doing the ritual.”

Harry blinked, “Ritual?” 

Regulus motioned towards a nearby chair and Harry moved over and sat down, leaning forward curiously. Regulus closed his book and set it aside on a nearby end table. “When an heir is chosen from outside the immediate family, there are certain rituals that need to be done so that the heir is properly recognized by all necessary authorities. There will be contracts you and I will need to sign at the bank later this week, which is one type of recognition. There will be a form that I have to submit to the government, which I’ll do last of all because it requires other proofs that we’ll need to make first. But most importantly, the person needs to be tied into the family through magic or blood or both. Since we’re making you my heir in name, we’ll bond our family together through magic and your new name.”

“What do I have to do to make the ritual work?” Harry asked, “Will it hurt?”

“We’ll need to gather some items, thankfully I should have access to most of them already, and I don’t know if it will hurt. I don’t think so, but it might feel...strange. Especially since your magic isn’t fully developed yet.” Regulus shrugged one shoulder, “I’ve never done the ritual before, but from what I’ve read,” he gestured to the book beside him, “It’s safe to do the heir of the name to a child and is often done when a child is young as part of a naming ceremony, while they save the more intensive heir of the blood ritual for an elder child.”

Harry stared at the book curiously. “I didn’t know there was all this stuff about rituals for heirs… I thought you’d just announce it or something like they do in the paper for weddings sometimes.”

Regulus chuckled, “I do have to put an announcement in the paper, actually. That’s more of a social requirement, though, and I’ll wait until after we’re done with the ritual and your position as heir is settled. I have a feeling that as soon as I make the announcement there’s going to be a lot of trouble.”

Harry stiffened. He jerked his attention back to Regulus, “Trouble? Why?”

“I don’t think a lot of people are going to be happy that I took you from the muggles and made you my heir. They will probably think I’m doing it to take advantage of you and your fame and will be making political waves soon. Or they’ll simply be displeased that I’m from a Dark family and I’ve decided to take you and raise you as my own, even though you’re from a Light family. Those reasons or a dozen more, I’m sure there will be some that won’t make any bloody sense but people will still believe them.” Regulus frowned. His gaze wasn’t on Harry but had stuck on the wall above and to the right of his chair. His left hand was curled against his stomach, fingers hidden in his fist. 

“I don’t care what they think,” Harry said firmly, “You’re the one who saved me from the Dursleys. You’re the one who is going to teach me magic. You’re the one I want to be my family. You’re my father. Or you will be, after we do the ritual. Right?”

Regulus’s gaze slid from the wall and settled on Harry. He held his eyes and Harry held very still, watching him. It was weird, how dark and similar Regulus’s eyes were to Padfoot's. They had the same liquid black quality to them, dark and deep like ink, and expressive too. Though Regulus was definitely human and had more clarity in his eyes than Padfoot did, you could see a similarity between brothers in their eyes. 

Harry wondered if he chose to become the heir of the  _ blood  _ instead of just the name whether his green eyes would turn to that same inky black.

“You’re sure you want to be my heir?”

Harry nodded. 

“And you’re sure you want me as your father?”

Harry nodded even harder.

“Then that’s the way that it will be,” Regulus said with a faint smile. He stood and rested one hand on his chair for a moment. “We’ll need to prepare some items for the ritual, I’m sure most of it we can find in the storerooms. Come with me, Harry.” 

Harry jumped up to his feet and followed as Regulus turned and headed out of the library. His heart beat hard in his chest with anticipation. This was it. He was going to have a father again. A family again. A  _ home  _ at last.

Harry hurried so that he walked next to Regulus instead of behind him. Regulus gave him a quick smile and then led him to a room nearby the library. “This room used to belong to my grandfather. It’s a laboratory, mostly for potions, but for other alchemical experiments.” Beyond the door was a stone room filled with a half-dozen shelves and a long row of tables. There were several cauldrons on the tables, made of different materials and gleaming in the light. Regulus walked Harry right past them and to a door at the far wall.

“We’ll get you tutors for your education as a young wizard of the House Black once we’re done with the formalities of making you my heir, During those lessons, you’ll learn about what is kept here and how best to use it.” Regulus said as he drew out his wand and tapped it on a stone beside the door. The stone turned and deposited a key, which he took and used to unlock the door. He placed the key back and opened it, “In here is the storeroom. More valuable pieces for brewing and experiments are kept here, so long as they can endure the same temperature and humidity.”

Harry walked in at Regulus’s heels, gaping at the racks and racks of bottles and boxes of things with labels about eyes and scales and leaves and shavings. He hesitantly reached out but Regulus put his hand on Harry’s wrist. “Don’t,” he murmured, “Some of this stuff is toxic to touch.”

Harry nodded and drew his hand back.

“However, I need you to look on that bottom row over there,” Regulus said, “On it you will find several boxes of feathers, which are safe to touch and labeled by the bird. On the box of raven’s feathers, I need you to pick out three of them. On the box of eagle feathers, you must pick out only one. For the raven feathers, pick out the cleanest, straightest, purest black feathers. For the eagle feather, pick out the one you like the most, the one that feels most like you. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, focusing hard on Regulus’s words. Three perfect raven feathers and one the one eagle feather he liked best. He went to the shelf and crouched down. The box for eagle feathers was long and narrow and made of stiff grey paper. He pulled it out and then the box of raven feathers, which was larger and made of a thin, pale wood. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Regulus considering something silver in his hands, and then looked over the other way and saw a small table. There was a box of something else on it already, so Harry carried over his two bird feather boxes and set it on top.

He opened the raven feather box first and carefully pulled out each one, comparing them against the others in a row. Soon he had six that looked good and from the six he picked the best three. They were black as ink and shiny. Harry set them aside, put the extra feathers back and opened the eagle feather box. This box had fewer feathers in it, but he immediately knew which one he liked best.

It was a large feather that was lightly colored on one side all the way to the tip where the feather turned black as though it had been dipped in ink. The backside of the feather was darker and when Harry held it up to examine, the light came through the feather and showed it to be a dark golden brown. He turned it slowly, admiring the color and shape of the feather before deciding that this was definitely the one. 

There were others in the box, some all white and some banded and some spotted and some all brown or black, but this one was the right one and he knew it right away. 

Harry closed the box and left the four feathers on the table as he returned the boxes back to the shelf. Regulus waved him over as he did so and Harry trotted up to him with a smile. 

“I need you to stand there and look up, Harry,” Regulus said, “And take off your glasses for a moment, so I can see your eyes.”

Harry obeyed, taking off his glasses and tilting his head back. Regulus was fuzzily outlined but still fairly recognizable. Harry watched his face as Regulus held up small green objects as if comparing them to Harry’s eyes. Regulus held up three different things and then nodded. “That’s enough, thank you.”

Harry put on his glasses and blinked as his vision mostly returned. “What are those for?”

“Part of the ritual requires that there are physical things that represent you that are brought from the place you are, namely not a member of the Black family, to the place you’re going to take, the position of the heir. Since this is a naming ritual, the items must only bring a resemblance, not be actually sourced from you. So we have emeralds for your eyes and these for your hair,” He held up a crystal clear container that looked like it was filled with a twist of black briar. Harry could see thorns on the stems, but only barely. “There will be eight individual items for the whole of the ritual, one for each of your years. The tricky thing will be representing the past that you’re shedding because it’s so muggle and muggle stuff tends to resist magical use.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully, “But what about when I was even younger than that, like from when I was a baby? Could you use something from that?”

Regulus paused in where he was reaching for something on the shelf. His hand stilled and then pulled back so he could tap his chin and mutter to himself, “We could design a bridge instead of going through the muggle nonsense. There’s no point in lingering there anyway, it’s just a terrible place. If I could find something that had been near Harry as an infant…”

Harry blinked as Regulus held out his hands, “Here.” 

Harry took the emeralds, two shining green gemstones, and the crystal bottle from Regulus.

“Put those with the feathers over there,” Regulus said as he picked up a dark box beside himself. Something inside of it clinked and when he put it down, Harry peaked into it and saw thick, curled shavings of silver that looked like those chocolate shavings on fancy cakes. He looked curiously at them, but didn’t touch since he wasn’t sure it was safe.

Regulus put a hand on his shoulder and he looked up, “Harry,” he said, “I want to travel to the home you shared with your parents as an infant. It was destroyed that same night and no one has lived there or has demolished it since then. It’s also the same place where your parents are buried. Would you like to come with me or do you want to stay here with Sirius?”

Harry swallowed. “You’re going to my parent’s graves?”

“I need something from your infancy and that home is the strongest remaining thing. You don’t need to come with me and I’ll be very quick. And don’t think this is the only time you can go see them. We can go later, if you like.”

Harry thought about having to wait at the house alone, well, with Padfoot, and how he’d just want to know what Regulus was doing. What did the house look like? It sounded like there wasn’t anything left but he still wanted to know. He wanted to see the place where he’d been born and raised. Well, almost raised. 

“I want to go,” Harry said. “Please.”

“We have to leave Sirius here,” Regulus said quietly, “He can’t go there. He doesn’t remember it, not like he should, but he cries when he goes there and I won’t bring him there again. So we’ll leave him out on the grounds and we’ll go together, okay?”

Harry nodded. “Should I- Should I bring some flowers?” Harry had seen people go to graveyards on the telly and they always had bouquets when they went.

Regulus hesitated and the nodded. “We’ll go get some.”

Harry smiled. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry wore the grey cloak that Regulus provided for him, lifting his chin when the man affixed the gold, red, and black shield-shaped crest to the front to hold it in place. Regulus smoothed the grey cloth over Harry’s shoulders and pulled the hood up. He made sure to bring it down enough to cover Harry’s forehead. Regulus met his gaze and tapped one finger on Harry’s forehead, right above the scar there. “Until you’re officially my heir, it’ll be best to keep this covered. We don’t need anyone getting any ideas about taking you away from me,” he said quietly.

He wore his own cloak, a darker grey than Harry’s but with the same crest at the throat. Harry had seen it before, on some of the books and portrait frames in the house. It was the House of Black crest; a red wedge of stars with hand holding a wand above a white field with three standing ravens on it with the Black family motto _ -Toujours Pur- _ written beneath on golden ribbon _. _

Regulus lifted the hood of his cloak up and pulled it down so it mimicked Harry’s own. He grinned down at Harry, looking younger and more mysterious with the cloak. “It’s fine if they wonder who you are. I’m likely to draw attention no matter what I do, but we’ll keep your identity a secret for a little longer, Harry.”

Harry nodded. 

Regulus led him through the front door and back down the walkway, murmuring an explanation that Apparation, the spell, required permissions and points to work from and with. He gestured over the grounds and said that wards prevented anyone from appearing anywhere on the property except by the front gate. He talked about how one needed to visualize where they were going to apparate and other limitations, like distance, and how splicing could happen with badly managed spells. Harry listened attentively, one hand holding onto his cloak just under the Black crest and the other holding onto Regulus’s cloak. He felt like a little kid doing it, but Regulus hadn’t told him to stop. Harry would’ve thought Regulus didn’t notice except for the way his eyes softened when he looked at Harry.

Regulus transported them with his magic, his left hand resting against the middle of Harry’s back, between his shoulder blades and his right hand casting the spell with his ebony wand. Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the pulling, twisting sensation but he didn’t feel like throwing up as much this second time.  He still landed with a bump, stumbling forward and into Regulus, who held him upright without a complaint.

Harry’s fingers tightened their grip on Regulus’s cloak and he thought to himself,  _ he’s going to be a really good dad to me.  _ He straightened up and gave Regulus a smile, in answer to the wordless question in those dark eyes. Regulus nodded and then turned to lead the way.

Harry made himself let go of Regulus’s cloak, if only because they were in public now, but he kept close to him, worried already that he’d get lost. There were a lot of people out and about, more than he expected and more going on than just the people bustling around. There was a light shower of rain but it was warm and seemed to go unnoticed by the people on the street. Harry saw swishing blue robes and red robes, black ones matched with tall pointed hats and some that were a lighter grey than his own cloak. He nearly stopped in his tracks when he noticed that the rain just  _ stopped _ a few inches above their heads, as if by magic.

He felt silly a second later. Of  _ course  _ it was magic. They were all wizards and witches and a little bit of rain wasn’t going to bother  _ them.  _

He turned his head so he could look up at Regulus and saw that the distance between the rainfall and the cloak was smaller than the other people. Harry reached up above his own hand and felt the warm rain hit his outstretched palm. He brought his hand back down and stared at it in wonder. His cloak was still dry. He hadn’t even noticed the rain until they were on the cobblestone streets, where puddles were gathering.

“Something wrong?” Regulus asked him. 

Harry shook his head. Nothing was wrong. He was just tongue-tied by how amazing magic was  _ again.  _ He reached out with his hand, because he didn’t want to get separated from Regulus, and grabbed Regulus’s hand. Regulus went still at the touch and Harry was reminded of the way Regulus sometimes treated him like glass like he was afraid Harry would shatter if put under too much pressure. “I just don’t want to get separated,” he mumbled, squeezing Regulus’s hand a little tighter.

It took a moment, and the sound of Regulus’s breath coming in with a rattle, for Harry to realize he’d taken Regulus’s  _ left  _ hand.

Harry froze, realizing now that he’d just grabbed Regulus’s bad hand and how rude that must have been. And, yes, the hand did feel different now that he had noticed it. There were three fingers, not five, and the rough scar tissue pressed against Harry’s hand like a weirdly shaped rock. Or like rippling bark, hard and inflexible but organic in like tree bark was. Harry flushed in embarrassment but instead of letting go, he held on tighter. Regulus was going to be  _ his father.  _ He wasn’t going to be scared to hold his  _ father’s  _ hand.

Regulus’s fingers curled tightly over Harry’s hand and he ducked his head a little more, head turned so Harry couldn’t see his face well. Harry’s face burned hotter but he set his jaw against it and kept walking. 

At least now he could look at things without worrying that he’d get left behind. Regulus walked a little slower so Harry could more easily keep up with him and whenever Harry got surprised by something, he noticed Harry slow down and would stop so Harry could look. There was so much for Harry to look at, too. There were floating boxes around people’s heads, probably the things they’d bought. There were animals of all sorts in display in cages and behind the glass of a big building. There was a shop where robes turned and moved on display like they were worn by models in a window, except they were empty inside. There was an ice cream shop, too and Harry wondered what sort of magical flavors they had inside. He wanted to try them all.

Regulus stopped at a door that was painted all green and had windows that were filled with so many plants that Harry thought for sure the inside would feel like a forest. It didn’t, though. It was cool inside, almost  _ too  _ cold and Harry realized that all those plants that he saw weren’t potted or still growing. Their stems were cut and they were, essentially, being refrigerated, except with magic instead of a giant fridge. 

He realized that they had to be in a florist’s shop, except it was a magical florist, not just a regular one, and looked around curiously at the bunches of flowers not yet arranged into bouquets. He almost reached up to pull his hood down, but he just remembered not to. Instead, he kept closer to Regulus’s side, walking with him as he went up to the counter.

There was a pretty woman who worked behind the counter, wearing a bright green apron who looked up from a selection of ribbons to the side of her counter and stared. Her blue eyes grew wide as they focused on Regulus. “M-Mr. Black,” she said. Her eyes briefly dropped down to Harry but he saw her look at his chest, at the crest he wore and then look back up at Regulus, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I need three bouquets,” Regulus said, “Two of them to contain white chrysanthemums, rosemary, garden daisies, agrimony, and mezereon. One of those two will contain a white lily and the other will have white bellflowers with small blossoms. The third bouquet must be eight of your whitest lilies, cut as close to the root as you have. The lilies must be white naturally, not spelled that way or repaired from any injury.”

The woman stared for a moment and then nodded sharply, “Right. Yes. Right away. I’ll- go get that ready for you. Please, look around while you wait.”

She hurried out from around the counter, scooping up a basket and her wand and moving along the flowers out on display. Harry watched her for a while until she disappeared behind a display of enormous sunflowers. Then he looked up at Regulus. Regulus was staring off at the wall with a distant look in his eyes. Harry wondered about all the different flowers he’d chosen but knew they were trying to be sneaky still. So he just leaned against Regulus and waited. 

Regulus squeezed his hand a little tighter and Harry squeezed back.

The woman returned several minutes later with a basket filled with blooms. Harry recognized only the daisies and the lilies and wondered about the yellow and the purple and other white flowers. The woman seemed a little calmer now that she was working with the flowers, “How would you like these packaged for you, Mr. Black?”

“The arranged bouquets can be wrapped in black paper,” Regulus said, “And package the lilies in one of your glass transport cases.”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded. She summoned black paper and ribbon with her wand. Harry watched in wonderous silence as she expertly arranged the two flower bouquets, making them almost identical except for the two different flowers. She tied the black paper around them with an equally black ribbon and then excused herself to get the glass.

While she was gone, Regulus rummaged inside his cloak with his free hand and pulled out a pouch. She returned and gently lay the white lilies in the case, closing it and sealing it with a murmured spell. Inside the glass, the white lilies looked crisp and perfect, their leaves a shining brilliant white. He let go of Regulus’s hand so Regulus could pay the woman, fishing out the coins from the bag, and then Regulus placed one of the bouquets into his arms. 

It was the one with the lily, a big white flower right in the center of the bouquet. Harry stared at it, wrapping his arm around it so he didn’t crinkle the paper. He looked up and watched as Regulus cast a spell on the glass case so it floated behind and a little above his head. Then he put away his wand and took the other bouquet in his right hand. The woman was busy processing the money and saying thank you for their business, but Harry didn’t listen to her.

Regulus had turned towards him, offering his hand to Harry. 

His left hand, with the palm up, three fingers extended and the scar visible. Harry didn’t let himself hesitate. He took Regulus’s hand with a little nod and then turned towards the door. They left together, stepping back out onto the street, to find the rain had faded away and left the world sparkling under the midday sun. 

Regulus murmured for Harry to come with him and then headed back down the street. They got even more eyes now, carrying matching bouquets and wearing dark cloaks with hoods up, but Harry caught Regulus’s eye and saw him grinning again so he felt less bad they were being stared at. It was like trying to be sneaky while being obviously  _ not  _ sneaky. Everyone noticed them and whispered, but they didn’t know what they were doing and no one dared to ask.

Regulus took him back to the apparation point, or at least that's what he called the alleyway behind one of the restaurants, and told him to wait.

“Are you ready, Harry?” he asked.

Harry nodded. He was going to see his parents’ graves. He was ready.

Regulus handed him the second bouquet, put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and drew his wand. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Regulus picks his way carefully through the graveyard. He’s been here exactly once before while on his search for the boy who now follows in his footsteps, literally. He finds the pair of headstones for the Potters only after a little bit of searching. He steps to the side, beside James’s grave, and half turned towards Harry.

Harry pulls down his hood and looks at the gravestones. He clutches the bouquet for his mother in both hands, wrinkling the black paper around them. His face is almost as pale as the lily he holds and his green eyes are dark with grief. Slowly, he approaches. He kneels down in the grass, the grey traveling cloak pooling around him. The Black crest flashes in the sunlight, but Harry doesn’t notice it. His eyes are on the stones engraved with his parents’ names.

Harry lays the bouquet against his mother’s headstone with all the solemness in the world upon his shoulders. He turns it so it lays across the front, the white lily a broken star shining amid the smaller blooms. His mouth opens but no words come out.

He looks up at Regulus, his eyes shining behind his glasses, and Regulus hands him the second bouquet. Harry takes it and shuffles over so he can place it on his father’s grave. He leans back, resting on his knees between both of the graves. 

Regulus shifts slightly. Harry blinks and looks up at him with those eyes full of tears. 

“The rosemary are those small purple flowers and that spice you smell. The flower is for remembrance. Those yellow flowers are agrimony, which represents thankfulness. In this case, I am both thankful for what they did and thankful for their memories.” Regulus explained looking down at Harry. Harry blinked and looked at the bouquets with growing understanding as Regulus continued, “The daisies are a more complex flower. They are an admission that I agree with your parents' sentiments; I will fight against those who wish to harm you as they did and I will do my best to raise you, as they would have.

“The mezereon are those larger purple flowers clustered on the stalks. They represent my desire to raise you in such a way that your parents would approve of the man you will grow up to be. The white chrysanthemum is for truth. I mean what I say; the gratitude, the remembrance, the desire, the sentiments. It’s all true.”

Harry pushes his glasses up, rubbing at his eyes. There are tears dripping down his cheeks but he’s crying silently. Regulus’s spine stiffens as he watches but doesn’t move to comfort him. Harry needs to grieve, he knows that, and he’s not sure any physical display of comfort would be welcome right now.

“The lily is for your mother, to represent the purity of her life and how sweet she was. The bellflowers are for your father, my personal gratitude that he was so close to my brother, supporting him where I could not.” Regulus paused, taking in a deep breath. He let it out again and lifted his gaze, staring out over the empty graveyard. “There are whole messages and conversations that can be told with the right combinations of plants. I hope that these messages to your parents are enough for their spirits to rest easy while you are in my care.”

“Regulus?”

He looked down quickly, anxiety filling him at the tearful warble in Harry’s voice. “Yes?”

Harry got up to his feet and stepped towards him. He reached out with both hands and Regulus instinctively reached out with his right. Harry took it in both of his and looked up at him. The tears were still running down his cheeks, but he held that same stubborn, set expression that he’d worn when he’d taken Regulus’s scarred hand in his own. “Thank you. I never got to see them before. I didn’t think I would ever get to ‘cause Aunt Petunia said they’d been buried beside the road where they died and I didn’t know then she was lying to me. Thank you for letting me see them here. I just wish- I wish they could be here but I know they can’t. I just- miss them.” Harry’s gaze dropped and he sniffed audibly.

Regulus hesitated and then stepped closer. He squeezed Harry’s hand in his own and lifted his left one up, patting him on the shoulder gently. “It’s all right to miss them. It’s important to remember them, we just can’t stay here and only think about them and only miss them. Only the dead stay in graveyards, Harry. We have to keep on living so that they will be proud of us.”

Harry nodded several times and then let go of Regulus’s hand with one of his own, wiping at his face again. Regulus sighed and stood there with him, patiently waiting once more. 

Harry dried his eyes with one more swipe of his arm across his face and then looked up at Regulus, “I’m ready to go,” he said. 

Regulus nodded. 

Hand in hand, they left the graveyard, stopping only at the edges to pull their grey hoods back up over their heads. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Regulus was silent when they approached the burnt out house.

Harry felt a strange sort of numbness come over his body as he stood outside the burnt remains and stared at them. Regulus had told him to wait there, since it might not be safe inside, and had gone in with his wand drawn. 

Harry looked at the cracked front steps and the burnt husk of the front door. He looked at the blackened walls and the empty windows. He stared and stared until the shape of the house was imprinted on his eyes. 

In his hands he held the glass case that had followed Regulus all the way from the shops to the graveyard to here, the house where Harry’s life had been irrevocably changed. He held the glass covered lilies tightly, practically hugging the container to his body as he stared straight ahead.

He couldn’t even imagine what the house was supposed to look like. What it was -a hollowed out wreckage- was impossible to look past. He couldn’t imagine complete walls or glass windows or a family living inside. It looked like it’d been abandoned for decades and decades, not just the seven years that Harry had spent with the Dursleys.

His eyes felt itchy with his tears but Harry held them back. He’d already cried in front of his parents in the graveyard, he didn’t need to cry  _ here  _ too.

He didn’t know how long he waited there before Regulus came back. Harry saw ash on Regulus’s cloak and saw Regulus slide a large clear flask filled with something grey and suspiciously like ash in his pocket. He spelled his clothing and hands clean with a flick of the wrist and stepped up, smiling. 

“I’ve gathered what I needed. We can return home now if you’re ready?”

Harry nodded. The house had nothing for him, not even memories. He held out one hand, the other cradling the glass covered lilies close. Regulus took Harry’s hand in his and then lifted his wand. They apparated back to the manor with a little bump.

Padfoot came racing around the corner of the building towards them, tail wagging and barking. He slowed down to a lope and then ran circles around them, pleased with their return. Harry smiled up at Regulus, who rolled his eyes at Padfoot’s antics and lowered his hood.

“I’ll need some time to prepare for the ritual tonight, Harry,” Regulus said, using a spell to levitate the flowers from Harry’s hands, “I’ll send for you when it’s time. For now, why don’t you spend time with Sirius? He looks like he missed us.”

“All right,” Harry said. Being with Padfoot wasn’t a chore at all. He smiled at Regulus, who carried the flowers away up towards the walk, grey cloak swishing around him. Harry turned to Padfoot, who stood now, legs spread and half bowing, head cocked to one side.

Harry grinned and bent over,  hands on his knees, “Want to race, Padfoot? Shall we race? Huh? Want to run?”

Padfoot barked, tossing his head and jumping excitedly to one side. He turned, as if he were going to run off, but looked back at Harry to make sure he was playing. Harry laughed and began to run, Padfoot barked again and took off after him. 


End file.
